The Dark Duke
by okieday17
Summary: When Vegeta, a 19th Century British Duke, comes to take away the American Heiress' Bulma Briefs brother, he never expected to feel such passion for the infuriating woman. Historical romance, DBZ characters. Rated M for later chapters
1. Reasons to go to the Heathen New World

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story

A/N: I've had this idea for a while, doing an B/V AU, that combines DBZ with another love of mine, historical/regency romance novels. I'm not exactly going for historical realism (expect anachronisms!), and I'm hoping I don't let the characters become too OOC (you know, for being DBZ characters stuck in early-mid 19th century America/England). Also, if anyone is interested in helping me beta the rest of this story, please send me a message/comment/email- sometimes I'm the worst self editor, and I would appreciate the help!

One last note- a Bow Street runner is basically the historical English equivalent of a private eye.

Prologue: Reasons to go to the Heathen New World

Bob Wicket prided himself on being the best Bow Street runner in all of London, as years in the shady business had taught him many things- including the inability to fear. Being a runner meant putting yourself in difficult situations that others didn't want to be in, or stalking dangerous people, or finding people who just didn't want to be found. All of these situations, if he wasn't at his sharpest could, at best, lead to altercations, at worst, lead to his death. Fear was not a part of his job, as it would undoubtedly paralyze him when he needed to be at his sharpest if he let it.

But Bob Wicket was a smart man as well, and he knew that fear could never completely be banished from any human being with a soul. Every now and then it did creep into his bones, as his line of work let him see the dark side of humanity-other times it caught him completely off guard. For instance, right now as he sat in front of the Duke of Vegetasei? He felt fear. Unabashedly, unequivocally, and irrevocably, though he hid it behind a mask of respect.

How did he get in this situation? Wicket thought back to what had brought the Duke into his life. When Wicket had first been approached by the tall, hulking bald brute (the Duke's everyman he had later found out) for this job, Wicket had been willing to refuse it as it would take him months to complete the job, what with the travel to America and all. The bald man had tried intimidating him with strength, but Wicket could hold his own against brute's such as that one, who were all strength, no brains-but then the dark carriage had opened, and out had come the Duke, and Wicket had unaccountably felt fear. The man wasn't imposing, or particularly evil looking-he just exuded that menacing darkness, and that air of always getting what he wanted, no matter what the cost. He was not one to cross, this Duke.

The Duke didn't say much to Wicket, just repeated the offer, his soulless black eyes never blinking, never leaving Wicket's face, and Wicket had numbly nodded, feeling as if a cold air had come with the Duke, sucking the breath out of his lungs. The night seemed darker, the Fall air seemed colder, and it took every ounce of Wicket's professionalism not to run screaming away from this man. It was only after Wicket had accepted that the Duke had broken eye contact, getting back into the carriage, that Wicket felt himself able to breathe again, and he had realized the job he accepted.

From that point on, Wicket hadn't seen the Duke again, instead (thankfully) dealing with the bald oaf, Nappa, completing the request with unusual speed, as he wanted to be done with the Duke as quickly as possible. He had managed to work quicker than he had anticipated, and the money was good but...something about the Duke made him think of the evil spirits his wife was constantly warning him against when she was trying to get him to church.

Now as Wicket sat in front of the Duke one last time, presenting his final findings, Wicket's mind kept thinking of those evil spirits his wife was so afraid of, and, though he prided himself on not being superstitious, Wicket was glad he had worn his wife's cross under his clothes today. It provided some small measure of relief and protection to the scared man, though he had initially laughed when his wife had suggested taking it today, waiting until she left the room to put it on. But the Duke wasn't even looking at him, instead leafing through the information Wicket had handed him, a frown on his face, "so you've tracked him down to Capsule Corporation? What is that?"

Wicket looked over the man's shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes, afraid that if he looked into his black eyes too long then his soul might just be sucked into them. When he spoke, it wasn't with his usual brash voice, but rather a polished one that would have had his friends laughing, calling him a pretender. Around the Duke, Wicket found himself toning down his usual South London accent, instead pulling on his years working with the Ton to sound as much like them as he could, ever since the Duke had displayed great annoyance at Wicket's cockney accent. "Capsule Corporation, as I've discovered, is a company founded by the genius Dr. Briefs, who is a leading industrialist, with companies both here and in the United States."

"As in the company that has been building all of those factories?"

Wicket nodded, gulping.

The Duke's eyebrows rose in...shock? Admiration? Amusement? It was hard to tell when this man's face didn't change much, and those eyebrows could be telling Wicket anything. Wicket usually prided himself on reading people, a skill he found incredibly useful to his job (it always did help to know who was, and wasn't, lying), but with the Duke he found himself completely mystified at all times. He just couldn't get a read on what he was thinking, or what was going on in those soulless pits that were his eyes. When the Duke didn't say anything, Wicket started to babble, saying stuff that could easily be found in the papers the Duke was holding, "richest family in America, maybe the world, has helped the New World find its own feet... and the person you're looking for is a part of the family."

The Duke's lips turned down into a frown (the only expression he seemed to have other than stoicism) as he repeated softly, "a part of their family?"

Wicket, still looking just past the Duke's ear, nodded, "yes'sir. There's Dr. Briefs, who runs the company, his wife, who's the daughter of the Baron of Manchester, their daughter, and their son who fits the description of the man you've been searching for."

The Duke was silent, and Wicket knew that he was looking over every inch of Wicket's face for any indication of, something, anything, before he looked down to the papers, effectively dismissing Wicket as he said, "Nappa will pay you for your services on the way out."

Wicket didn't need to be told twice, and he bolted from the room quickly, hoping that the Duke would never see fit to employ him again.

Right when he was about to turn the corner to leave, the Duke's voice, heavy, dark, stopped him, "and Mr. Wicket?"

Wicket's fear caused him to drop his carefully cultivated accent, "oy?"

The Duke's eyes narrow, but he doesn't comment on the slip as he continued, "if I hear even a rumor that I employed you, or what you have discovered, anywhere, even among the other runners..." He didn't finish, nor did he need to, in Bob's opinion, as the threat carried across loud and clear.

Wicket just swallowed hard, nodding, and then left the room, once again glad to feel the air around him becoming less dense with every step he took away from the appropriately-nicknamed Dark Duke.

Nappa entered the room a short time later, while Vegeta was still frowning over the reports the runner had left with him. Vegeta didn't bother to look up as he asked, "did you take care of him?"

Nappa frowned, swiping the cap he kept on during colder months off of his head, rubbing his bald head absentmindedly, "yeah, he's been well paid. I doubt he'll ever tell even his wife who he was working for." Nappa replaced the cap, frowning at the young Duke, who he has known since he was just a boy. "Don't see why we couldn't kill him."

Vegeta looked up, his frown deepening as he took in the older man before him, "because, Nappa, there is no need to kill a man who I have put the fear of God into. Plus, he might be useful in the future."

Nappa grunted, but didn't say anything else for a few moments, shifting from foot to foot, before he burst out, "he could talk."

Vegeta was back to looking at the papers, his voice certain, as only a man who has had everything handed to him in life could be, "he won't."

Nappa considered going after Wicket himself, tying up any loose ends, but before the plan could be fully formed, Vegeta spoke again, "I'll need you to prepare the Saiyan Lady."

Nappa nodded, "when do you want us to be ready to sail by?"

Vegeta still didn't look up, his voice toneless as he continued, "as soon as you can have her ready by-preferably the next tide."

Nappa didn't even blink at the request, continuing, "where am I telling the captain to take us?"

Vegeta finally looked up from the papers, his lips curling, flashing his teeth in a smirk, "America. It seems that little Kakarrot might not be as dead as we thought..."

A/N: Dun dun duhhhhh! Probably a predictable way to get a British Vegeta and an American Bulma in the same room, but its hard not to draw parallels for English lords with their American contemporaries in the 19th century, and the Saiyan prince with the earthlings. Next chapter we meet more of the characters!


	2. Keeping up Appearances

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

A/N: Thank you to all of my wonderful reviewers! I did not know what to expect from posting this story, and you guys have really encouraged me to write more (oh no, people care, there is now pressure to write well-argh)! Special thanks to ScoobyDoobyDee for their constructive criticism on how to be a more professional writer, I appreciate the help!

One last note, pugilism is the Regency term for boxing.

Chapter One: Keeping up Appearances

Bulma Briefs, the famous twenty-two year old Capsule Corporation heiress, was currently in a situation that was sure to have the entirety of Manhattan's society matron's tongues wagging if they knew what the very eligible (and surprisingly unbetrothed) beauty was doing. She could almost hear their gossipy whispers from over a hundred miles away, shocked that she was sitting in a Capsule Corporation store that she had just broken into (with the assistance of her brother, of course), though their whispers turned into shouts of outrage when they realized she was dressed in men's clothing.

But really, what other options did she have when her and her brother had set off to town with the express purpose of using the workshop in the store, rather then the one she shared at home with her father? It would be completely unrealistic of her to come into town to work in the store dressed as the heiress usually was, especially as the goal of today was stealth, and Bulma Briefs just always seemed to attract attention no matter where she went. It was either stay at home, dressed as she was and try and be covert as she used the shared lab, or find more freedom to work at the store, dressed as a man.

So there she sat, in men's clothing, completely concentrated, with her tongue stuck out through her teeth, looking through the suspended magnifying glass as she worked on the tiny parts of her father's favorite watch, which she might have, accidentally, without meaning too (of course)... crushed underneath her horses hooves the other day when her and her brother had been racing their horses. Bulma was proud to say she had won, but less proud to say she had realized she had crushed the beloved watch under her horse, Moonshine's, hooves.

Luckily for Bulma, she had a gift with all things mechanical, inherited from her father, and knew she could fix the completely crushed pocket watch. She would be able to return it to her father later that night, probably as he lay asleep after some port, and he would never know the difference. Sometimes it paid off to have parents who were not the most observant of people, she mused.

She was just slipping a tiny gear back onto its equally tiny screw when her brother's voice rang from the front of the shop where he was keeping watch, causing her to jostle the piece. "Bulma! Hurry! We are not even supposed to be here! Church will be getting out any minute, and the shop keep will be back!"

Bulma huffed, but did not look up from the watch, instead making her voice testy as she replied, "Goku, would you shut it? I can't concentrate over all of your yammering!"

He sounded amused when he replied, but really, when was her brother not amused? "I'll stop yammering if you just hurry it up already. Mom and dad think we're at church."

Bulma remained concentrated on her task, her voice still cross, "well we would be at church if someone hadn't decided to challenge me to a horse race last night!"

"It's not my fault you forgot you had dads watch in the pocket of your gown!"

"It is your fault that you dared me to take the watch from him as he slept in the drawing room of the Bandit's house!"

Goku rolled his eyes as he let out a chuckle, "well I wouldn't have dared you if you hadn't been too busy dancing with their son Yammmmcchhhaaaa," the last word was said in a sing-song voice, meant to particularly annoy Bulma, and though she felt the urge to throw something at her brother's head, she ignored it.

Goku upon seeing no noticeable reaction from his sister, continued, "you were too busy mooning at him, batting your eyelashes, to remember that you had a brother. I had to do something to get your attention."

There was an insistent huff, but Bulma refused to look up, rather concentrating on the tiny parts in front of her as she muttered, "I was not mooning." Goku snorted, but did not say anything else as she continued to tinker with the watch. Her brother did not understand the necessity of concentration when working with small parts (as he had no mechanical aptitude), but he did know how that this watch being fixed was crucial to their parents not realizing what they had been up to.

Which had been, in a word, trouble.

But it was winter, they were stuck in their upstate New York estate rather then their glittering Manhattan residence, so trouble was to be expected from the energetic youths. Bulma had been pulled away from learning, and her brother had been pulled away from his sports-which left the two Briefs children with nothing to do but cause mischief. It was really their parent's fault. Regardless of the fact that Bulma was twenty-two, and her brother was almost twenty.

As she clicked a particularly tiny (and bothersome) gear into place, Bulma smiled, finally looking up, "got it!" She expected for Goku to say something, congratulate her, tease her, but when she heard nothing she frowned, looking to him. She felt a flicker of unease when she saw Goku standing in an attentive stance as he stared out the window, "Goku-are you okay?" When he remained silent, Bulma walked out from around the counter, reaching up to grab her much taller brother's forearm, noticing his frown. "Hey-what is it?"

Goku's frown was not a good sign-it was almost impossible to rip her brother out of a good mood. She could not remember the last time she had seen him angry...he was generally an extremely good-natured person. The only other times she had seen him this concentrated was right before he was about to start either a pugilist or a fencing match-which did not bode well.

Goku finally blinked, looking down at her as he nodded to the window, "there's someone stopping right in front of the shop. I don't recognize them though."

Bulma looked, seeing two unfamiliar horses that were stopping in front of the store. She could not place them, but as she saw their riders dismount, she immediately snapped into action, turning towards her younger brother. "Goku, go get the horses that are around back saddled, and I'll get rid of them as soon as possible. I'm so close to being done, then we can get out of here."

Goku frowned, especially as he saw a menacing looking bald ogre walk straight for their shop, "I don't know Bulma-what if they figure out you're a girl?"

Bulma huffed, "no one with horses that well bred is observant of the lower class, and you know I can imitate the men in this village pretty well." Goku still seemed hesitant to leave her, so she reminded him, "your Irish accent is horrible, almost as bad as your lying skills, and we don't want it getting back to mom and dad that we were here. You'd give the game up as soon as you opened your mouth."

Goku was apprehensive, but knew that Bulma was right, so he finally nodded. "Okay, get back behind the counter," Bulma gave him a reassuring smile, before shooing him out the back door. She apprehensively pulled her hat further down after he left, making sure her hair was completely covered by the cap, the blue hair a dead giveaway that she was the Briefs heir. She straightened the work apron that made her shapeless, and set about hunching her shoulders as men did.

The second she had 'transformed' herself, the door bell dinged as the door was thrown open, commanding attention, which she refused to give, instead resolutely looking back down at the watch she was almost done with. She waited a second before speaking, then reminded herself to keep her Irish brogue deep, trying to sound like a regional man as she muttered, "shops closed."

The British accent did not go unnoticed by the blue-hared genius, as the man in the shop spoke gruffly, "the Duke of Vegetasei requests your help."

Bulma ignored his commanding tone, as well as spark of interest in hearing the word 'Duke,' concentrating solely on the task in front of her, instead. Even as the door dinged again, she refused to look up, rather speaking down to the table, trying to keep her voice even, "well then he kin find it at the church with everyone else today. Tis' the Lord's day." She let out a satisfied sigh as she slipped the last ball bearing into place, the watch clicking as she wound it, smiling as she finally finished, reaching for the back cover.

Her smile turned into a frown as two meaty palms slapped the work table she was sitting at, jostling the tiny ball she had just finished putting into place, the man's voice loud as he yelled, "you will help him now!"

Bulma flicked a glance to the back door to make sure Goku had not heard the yelling (and felt the need to rush in and defend her, giving the game away), before she finally looked up at the man who was yelling at her. He was ugly, bald, big, and looking at her with fury in his eyes. She had to keep her temper in check as she looked up, her eyes flashing defiantly at the man as she struggled to keep her Irish accent manly enough, "listen you ill-tempered oaf-"

The man snarled at her, cracking his knuckles, "how dare you disrespect me like that! I ought to teach you some manners!" He abruptly grabbed her apron, pulling her out of the seat she was in.

Bulma kept the fear off of her face (even if she was terrified of what kind of physical damage this man could do to her), and stared at him defiantly, pleased to hear his angry huff at her attitude. Right when the giant cocked his fist, ready to let it fly, a hand appeared on his forearm, holding the fist back. A voice, also British, but more polished, belying the more genteel breeding of the second man, rang out, "enough Nappa. Scaring this Irish scum won't get us the answers we need. These Americans have proven to be nothing but uncouth, uncultured, and uninspiring."

Bulma was dumped, unceremoniously back in her seat, but she huffed back at the bald giant, straightening her apron as the oaf glared at her before taking a step back, revealing the other person in the shop. She was ready to be just as huffy with them (especially after their jab at her American, and 'Irish' heritage), but found herself catching her breath in a gasp as a short man, much smaller than the boor who had just stepped aside, came to Bulma's forefront.

He was short, yes, but everything about him exuded power and assurance, and Bulma felt an odd pull to the man as she recognized a kindred spirit who was used to getting everything they wanted. He was dressed completely in extremely expensive black, the clothes accentuating how compact, yet muscular, his body was. She took in the rugged, angular face (much too masculine to be called beautiful), the flame-shaped black hair-but it was those eyes that had stilled her breath. They were deep dark pits, and Bulma felt if she looked at them too long, she might be sucked into their obsidian depths. Something about his unblinking stare, about the satisfied way he carried himself-she instantly felt a chill, while another faction of her felt warmth at recognizing that he was completely and utterly handsome. She had always had a weak spot for good-looking men...

As she realized she had been staring with her mouth slightly open, Bulma looked back down at the almost forgotten watch, suddenly wishing she was anywhere but here. She did not often fear people seeing past her costume to realize she was a girl, but something about his gaze was so direct and assessing, she was afraid he would see her secret. Those eyes...they were just, she shuddered, one word coming up repetitively, chilling. As soon as she was looking at the watch again, away from the man's stare, she felt like she could breathe again, and took a deep gulp of air.

Vegeta was tired, sore, hungry and thirsty from the long ride he had just partaken in, though his outward countenance betrayed none of this as he examined the slip of a man in front of him, frowning as he thought he saw a wisp of blue hair underneath the cap before the man had looked down. Vegeta had only gotten a second's look at the man's delicate features before he had put his head back down, and Vegeta wanted to get a good look at the man, his senses on high around someone who refused to have their face seen. Vegeta had barely gotten a look at the shop keep, before the man had broken eye contact, going back to fiddling with the piece he had been working on before Nappa had grabbed him.

He frowned as the shop keep still refused to look up, even as the silence stretched. Vegeta finally spoke, but kept his voice soft, hoping to catch the man's attention, "I apologize for my associate's behavior."

The shop keep still refused to look up, working on what looked to be a watch as he gruffly replied, "aye, ye better keep a shorter leash on yer dog."

Nappa growled again, "you will refer to the Duke as my lord!"

The shop keep blanched, but nodded, briefly, as if realizing his mistake in etiquette. If he truly did, then Vegeta was impressed. He had never been to America before, but he had to say the reputation the colonialists had gained for lacking in complete and proper manners was completely earned in his opinion. This backwards country was not one he planned on staying in any longer than he absolutely had to.

Vegeta spoke again, "your store is owned by the Briefs family, correct?"

Something about the way the man froze at the mention of the Briefs name had Vegeta's antennae up. But it was only for a moment, before he went back to working on that infernal watch, and Vegeta put the frozen moment down to simple fear of the employer finding out how abominably the shop keep was acting. "Aye, what of them?" He paused, and then spit out a very quiet, "my lord."

Vegeta was so irritated by this man, he wanted to do nothing more than to let Nappa take him out back and teach him a lesson in manners, but they were pressed for time, and Vegeta needed to make sure that him and Nappa were on the right route. They would have been at the Briefs winter estate hours ago, but they had gotten lost halfway through their journey after misunderstanding the keeper of the inn they had stopped at for lunch direction's. Yet another reason Nappa was so aggravated, and Vegeta was so frustrated. They were so close, and Vegeta did not want to waste any more time, so he commanded, "I need directions to their estate."

The shop keep finally stopped tinkering, and peaked up from underneath his cap, Vegeta taking in the incredibly captivating eyes that stared back at him, finding himself shocked at their blueness. He had never seen eyes so...blue, for lack of a better word, before. The blue depths currently shone with a burning curiosity as the boy asked, "the Briefs estate? Whatcha looking for them for?" Another pause, "my lord."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at the impertinence of this villager, and frowned, before he threw a sack of coins at the man, trying to speed things along, "it is of no matter what I need from them. I just need to know that we are going the right way." The coins should get him some answers-gold was one currency that the poor could never ignore.

Bulma distastefully eyed the coins in front of her, the way this Duke threw money around striking a cord with her-she did not like him, plain and simple. It had to be because of his overall attitude, like he was better then everyone, constantly judging (and condemning) everyone around him. She wanted to do nothing more then to throw the coins back in his face, demanding he leave her store. But she had to stay in character, so she grabbed them, weighed them in her hand, considering them, and then stuffed them in her pocket.

She looked up to tell him how to find her estate, but instantly looked back down as the man's piercing black gaze threatened to overwhelm her-something about it made her shiver, feeling colder then she had before he had entered the shop. As soon as she looked down, she felt better, and she took another steadying breath.

She considered lying about how to get to her home, but she had to admit she was curious as to what this British Duke wanted from her family. So she finally answered him, "aye, ye're heading the right way. Keep north until the fork on the road, then take the left fork, and you'll be at their front door within the hour." She paused, longer then the other times waiting to see his fists clench before she muttered, "my lord."

There was a pause, and she defiantly looked up, forcing herself to meet those black eyes, to fight the chill she felt settle in her bones. As she stared at the impassive face though, she felt her heart began to thunder, and as his lower lip softened from the firm line he had held it in, she had to fight the sudden desire she had to stare at his lips.

The Duke simply nodded at her after he had stared at her sufficiently long enough, and muttered, "that is all," like he was dismissing her from his study. He turned on his heel, and just as quickly as he had come, he was gone.

Bulma stared dumbfounded at the door, before the oaf caught her attention by threateningly cracking his knuckles. He took a menacing step forward, but the Duke called his name from outside, and he only growled before he too left the store.

She stayed unmoving until she heard their hoof beats pound away, before taking a large breath, gulping air into her lungs. When she was sure they were out of sight, Bulma tore into action, jumping from her seat, locking the door, grabbing the now fixed watch, and raced outside, Goku's startled gaze meeting her own as she ran to her horse. He helped her mount as she looked at him, speaking quickly, "c'mon, we have to go-we're about to get some guests at home."

Goku only nodded once, then jumped onto his own horse in a smooth movement, the two of them taking off in a gallop in an attempt to beat the Duke in reaching their property first.

A/N: The first meeting! An unconventional way to have them meet (I wonder if Bulma really ever could pull of being a man), but a fun to have them meet when Vegeta is not quite sure whom he's talking to. Next chapter, answers for why Vegeta is searching for Kakarrot...


	3. The Bombshell

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Some cussing

A/N: Thanks again to all my wonderful reviewers! You guys inspire me to write (and post) faster!

Chapter Two: The Bombshell

Vegeta found himself, not even an hour after leaving the shop in town, seated before an extremely odd older couple. The woman, Mrs. Briefs, was showing way too much cleavage for her age, and Dr. Briefs was dressed as if he was to go to bed in a smoking jacket and slippers, though it was barely late afternoon. The pair seemed to share a brain between them, as the woman had not stopped talking, while the man had done nothing more than stroke the cat on his shoulder, smiling at Vegeta absentmindedly.

Vegeta had to fight to keep his superior smirk on the inside after he had observed the pair—this was the famous Dr. Briefs? The supposed genius? The man who was industrializing America and England? The only thing extraordinary about this man was the fact that he had purple hair—oh, and that his pipe had not run out of tobacco, considering the amount he had been puffing on it. Was it even full? Vegeta once again fought the urge to smirk, as he imagined the seemingly hare-brained man puffing on an empty pipe—as he industrialized the world. Vegeta could not reconcile the intelligence he had on this man with the person sitting in front of him.

Mrs. Briefs, on the other hand, could win gold medals for inane chatter. She had not stopped twittering, and oohing, and aahing, at Vegeta since he had first walked in. He used her nonstop chatter, at first, to silently observe everything around him. Not that he needed to be on his highest alert, but Vegeta did not feel comfortable unless he was completely aware of everything in the room around him. It was hard to ignore training that had been instilled in one from a very young age, Vegeta mused, even in the backward sticks of America.

As Mrs. Briefs continued to chatter, though, Dr. Briefs still saying nothing, Vegeta felt his patience growing thin. He wanted to find Kakarrot, dammit, not sit here, listening to this woman's small talk! But when he had tried to talk to Dr. Briefs alone, he had found that Dr. Briefs had no desire to have a one on one meeting with the intimidating Duke. In fact, Dr. Briefs had been quite insistent that whatever Vegeta had to say to him, he could say to the whole family. So Vegeta sat, a cup of tea in front of him, his senses his high alert, his anger rising as the woman in front of him continued to talk away.

"Do you know my brother? The Baron of Manchester? Did he send you here?"

Vegeta's attention snapped to the woman, her question demanding an answer. He narrowed his eyes at her, wondering what her angle was (everyone had an angle, he had learned), but then contemplated if this woman was smart enough to have an angle. When he could find nothing but curiosity on that vapid woman's face, he curled his upper lip in distaste as he finally told her, "Madam, I have never met your brother before. It is not often barons find themselves in the same circles as dukes." He was being stinging hoping if he insulted this woman she would stop chattering idly. Vegeta was not one for small talk.

But her face fell for only an instant, "oh," before the smile was back in place, "are you married?"

Vegeta had no time to blanch at the forthrightness of the woman's question, as there was suddenly the loud pounding of feet coming down stairs, and not a second later the door to the sitting room burst open, a young woman rushing into the room, her eyes wide, "is he here yet?"

Vegeta, who had been rising from his chair, his impeccably ingrained manners forcing him to stand in the presence of any woman, froze halfway up as he took in the blue whirlwind as she slammed her way into the room. He could not take his eyes off of her as she glided into the room with a graceful swish of her hips, desire hitting him hard and low in the stomach. She was, in a word, stunning. Her blue hair was vibrant, the color of the sky on a cloudless day, her flawless white skin a palate for her clear blue eyes and full, ruby red lips, that begged any man with a pulse to kiss her senseless. As his eyes continued to take her in, he was glad of his iron control over his body's natural reaction to such a gorgeous woman.

She was not an English Rose, that was for sure, and if she were in London, her coloring, her curves and swells, would be completely out of style. She would be much better placed in a bawdy restaurant, or as a courtesan, attracting noble men away from their wives with a graceful flick of those hips. She was made for the nighttime, a creature of seduction and enticement, a succubus or siren of old lore, tempting men to their doom.

In the daylight, though, she was still beautiful. She wore a simple blue day gown, but it could not hide the fullness of her breasts, and though there was no definition to the gown, he could see the beginning of the feminine swell of her hips. He was suddenly struck with the urge to smooth his hand from her breasts to her hips to see just how tiny her waist was, to know how long her legs were, but Vegeta restrained this desire to touch her—barely.

He found himself frowning as he continued to stare, wondering why such a young woman could have such an effect on him. He had never been struck by a woman's beauty so hard before, and he had been around the most beautiful women in London. Perhaps he had gone too long without a woman—he had had been busy before he had left for America, and since the journey across was long, it was now months since he had indulged in any sins of the flesh. But Vegeta had never been one to give into his baser instincts like this, since he had first learned control at a young age. There was no reason desire for this chit should be causing his hands to fist at his sides as he fought to restrain himself from touching her.

When he finally had some control over his thoughts, Vegeta dragged his eyes away from the woman's curves, back to her face—only to find her blue eyes staring straight at him. Vegeta felt another flare of desire run through his body at seeing her meeting his direct gaze without flinching, something that did not happen often these days—and he had to wonder at her spirit.

When Vegeta's eyes finally settled on her face, the woman spoke, her voice low and sultry, "oh… hello."

She slowly made her way across the room, her every move capturing his attention and imagination, though she was simply walking. As she got closer, he kept his eyes on her own, his black ones clashing with the ocean blue hers, and he felt a flash of recognition at the blueness of her eyes. Instantly he was drawn back to the delicate features of the man who he had questioned in the Capsule Corporation store in town.

Vegeta frowned as he noticed the similarities between that impertinent man, and the heiress walking towards him. Thought the man in the store had done a good job of avoiding Vegeta's gaze, the blue of his eyes had stuck with Vegeta, and he was now confused to see an identical pair on this beauty. Perhaps the boy was a by-blow of Dr. Briefs? The product of an affair with a chambermaid? That would explain the similarities of the boy from the village and the heiress. Though…

Bulma had felt the intent way that the Duke was staring at her the second she had entered the room, and when she had met his eyes, she had been surprised by the way he had stared as if she was the only other person in the room. Bulma was almost afraid that he recognized her from the store, but as his eyes had traveled the length of her body (an reaction from men she was used to), she had been surprised to see a dark flame flicker in those obsidian depths. Earlier his eyes had been soul-sucking pits, cold, hard as granite…but now they flamed with heat.

Bulma almost started when she recognized the flame in his eyes as desire, and felt herself growing confused as her own body reacted in kind. A quickening of her heartbeat, a flush of heat throughout her body…her voice coming out much huskier than it usually did. Bulma resisted the urge to hide her face from those eyes, but she kept her eyes glued to his own, as she inwardly frowned at her weakness for men who just happened to be handsome—even if they were complete jerks. So she fought to keep her own desire hidden, trying to make her eyes like haughty, as if she was laughing at his reaction to her.

It must have worked, since the Duke's lips turned down in a frown, before he shuttered his face, the stoic mask from earlier back in place, not a second after she had. She was glad—she did not want to feel anything for this man except for anger, and it would be so much easier if he was not looking at her like he wanted to do nothing more than taste every inch of her. Especially as Bulma had already settled on disliking this man, and wanted to do nothing more than make his visit to America even more unendurable than he already thought it was.

Bulma had decided the easiest way of doing this would be to take this man's obvious dislike of everything but the most proper of manners and stick it in his ear. So Bulma ignored years of manners drilled into her by finishing school teachers, governesses, her own mother, and stuck her hand out, broadly grinning. He wanted to think that Americans were all uncouth, uncultured and lower then their British peers? Fine, she would do nothing to assuage that assumption. In fact, she was going to prove him right, just so she could see that flicker of annoyance behind his lids. "Bulma Briefs, and you are?"

His lips immediately turned down into a deeper frown, two lines appearing between his brows as he looked at her offered hand, and she resisted the urge to cackle in his face. Sure enough, as he surveyed her grinning like an idiot look (copied from her brother, of course), she saw his eyes narrow, that wanted flicker of annoyance running through his eyes.

But he still took the proffered hand, and his voice, strong and assured, answered her, "Duke of Vegetasei."

Bulma pumped his hand up and down vigorously, set on pestering this man. As the Duke smoothly took control of the handshake, though, stopping her inane pumping, she recognized the hidden strength and grace behind the movement as he covered her hand with both of his. She hid her surprise at that strength, as she instantly realized that beneath the polished veneer of the Duke was a sturdy man. What was a fancy, uptight British lord doing being so strong? She remembered the way he had held back that bald giant's fist earlier, and she fought not to frown in blatant curiosity at just what secrets this Duke was hiding behind that stoic mask.

But now was not the time to question this mans strength, so she put on her most infuriating smirk as she spoke next, "do you have a name, or shall I just call you Duke of Vegetasei?"

His frown deepened, and she feels herself smiling sweetly in triumph, batting her eyelashes in response as he muttered, "Vegeta."

She could not help but continue to needle him, glad to see the stoic man slightly ruffled. Her voice got more annoying as she asked in her most sugary tone, "is that your first or last name?"

Her parents were sitting, watching, their mouths wide open as their usually extremely well mannered daughter acted no better then an untutored doxy. Mrs. Briefs felt extreme displeasure at how Bulma was behaving towards a handsome young (extremely marriageable!) man, while Dr. Briefs was more amazed that his strong willed daughter dared talk to this imposing man that way. The Duke, who before Bulma had entered, had been more lifeless and unmoving then Plymouth Rock, had not stopped frowning since Bulma had entered the room, though he still answered her questions. To them, it was like watching the clash of two extremely proud titans, and they could only gape, wondering who would come out the victor.

Bulma ignored both of her parents, though, keeping her eyes concentrated on the dark man in front of her as he clenched his jaw, speaking between his teeth, "it is both."

Bulma crossed her arms, leaning against the couch, her ankles crossed as her smirk grew, "you're name is Vegeta Vegeta, Duke of Vegetasei?" At his nod, she gave a very unladylike snort, "your family isn't one for creativity, are they?"

She knew she had pushed it too far as she heard her mothers gasp, "Bulma!"

But Vegeta kept his focus on her, and she saw a flash behind those eyelids again as he smoothly answered her, the disdain he held for her obvious in his voice. Whatever desire he had felt for her was gone (good!), and she could feel his extreme dislike for her coming off of him in waves. Well buddy, the feeling was extremely mutual, she thought. "The British find pleasure in handing names down from family member to family member, showing pride by bestowing their names upon their offspring." There was a pause, before Vegeta's lips turned up in a small smirk as he continued, "family lineage is something I wouldn't expect Americans to understand."

Bulma's eyes narrowed, and her smirk disappeared, as his jab about Americans hit home. Her shoulders stiffened as she remembered the way he had insulted both her (supposed) Irish heritage and her American birth when she posed as the shop keep, and Bulma's low opinion of him sunk even further. She saw his flash of triumph at her offended look, and she resisted the urge to growl at him in response, the proud woman inside of her roaring for an answering dig from Bulma.

She hated when a British peer would come to the Manhattan season, and sniffed the whole time about how America was so young and unmannerly, no one knowing how to act properly. And for some reason the way he put it bugged her more than anyone else's censure. Maybe because he was so haughty about it, and she wanted to do nothing more than to knock him from that pedestal he had placed himself on.

She was just about to open her mouth to send another jab his way, when her mother's voice broke into their little bubble, her voice curious as she asked, "you haven't come to marry Bulma, have you?"

Bulma and Vegeta both turned to look at the blonde woman in shock, their mouths wide open. Then, when Bulma yelled out, "mother," Vegeta's manners slipped for the first time, as he bellowed, "absolutely not," at precisely the same moment.

Mrs. Briefs just tilted her head, observing them, "oh, I just thought you had come from England because you had heard of Bulma's beauty and wanted to make an offer for her. She is getting a bit long in the tooth, and needs a strong husband like you to keep her in check."

Vegeta watched from the corner of his eye with interest as Bulma's cheeks gained a red hue, and her eyes turned into darts of anger, from her mother's mention of her age. Interesting—Bulma did not seem that old, but maybe she had been to season a few too many times for both her and her mothers liking. Vegeta only smirked as he saw her face drop, his earlier desire of her replaced with repugnance. True, she was very beautiful, and she could probably seduce any man she set her mind too, but she was not going to find a husband in him, that was for sure. Even if he was looking for a wife, he could not consider the infuriating temptress. She was nothing but a vulgar American woman.

As Bulma hissed something at her mother, turning her back to him, Vegeta considered her for another heartbeat, as her backside was presented to him. She might be extremely infuriating…but she was extremely intriguing too. Vegeta needed to be on high alert around this woman, as she seemed to possess the brain cells both of her parents were missing. A brain, with a body like that…she could be trouble for Vegeta. Though he was not sure if he was more worried about her beauty or her brains at that moment.

Vegeta's eyes were drawn from Bulma's backside when the sound of feet pounding down the stairs in the hall once again caught his attention, and he wondered if there was an affliction in the family that made it impossible for anyone to simply walk down stairs. He frowned at the noise as he contemplated this— maybe all American households were this loud? He would not be surprised; in fact it would only reinforce his already low opinion of the nation.

The door burst open, once again, and all eyes were drawn to the tall, muscular man who had just burst in, his dark hair and eyes setting him apart from the rest of the fair-hared family. As he took him in, though, Vegeta felt his mouth go dry as he recognized the man's build, the planes of his face—hell, even the style of his hair. For the first time since he had arrived in America, Vegeta was literally stunned speechless.

Bulma was drawn from arguing with her mother about her age and chances of still marrying, when she heard her brother enter the room. Her anger at Vegeta (and her mother) was instantly gone as she turned to smile at Goku, glad to see her long time ally enter the room. The way that Duke was staring at everything like a bug that needed to be crushed, oh it infuriated her beyond belief—maybe she could somehow convince her younger brother to beat up the arrogant man? Especially as Goku saw the good in everything—a man such as Vegeta, who seemed to take pleasure in demeaning everyone around him, was sure to anger Goku.

Goku had his usual goofy grin in place as he further entered the room, his eyes wide as he looked right at Bulma, "did I miss him? Who was he? What did he want?"

Bulma was pulled from her fantasies of Goku beating Vegeta to a blood pulp (who she could then laugh at as Vegeta's pride was crushed), at Goku's questions. She discretely coughed, "Goku," and jerked her head to where Vegeta still stood, silently in the corner.

As everyone's attention was drawn to the Duke, Bulma was interested to see that Vegeta's bronze skin had gone white underneath, his mouth slightly open as he took in Goku, as if he had seen a ghost. But as if he could feel everyone's eyes on him, Vegeta snapped out of it, his face back to betraying nothing.

Goku, who seemed to be missing the hostile undertones of the room, turned towards the Duke smiling, "hello, I'm Goku Son, the Briefs' son. Who are you?"

Bulma saw the furrow of displeasure return to the Duke's eyebrows, but she lost all interest in deciphering the minute details of Vegeta's face, or causing him annoyance, as his answer rang loud across the quiet room. "I am Vegeta, the Duke of Vegetasei, and you are not Goku Son—you are my cousin, Kakarrot."

A silence stretched over the room as the words sunk in to the group as a whole, before someone screeched out, "WHAT?"

Bulma was too shocked by the pronouncement to realize it had been her who had screamed until everyone in the room turned to look at her.

A/N: Next chapter we get more of the families reaction to the news, and Vegeta's reasons for believing Goku is Kakarrot.


	4. The Missing Viscount

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Minor adult content

A/N: Well that's a doozy, isn't it? I feel slightly evil leaving it Vegeta's announcement, but sometimes you need a good cliffhanger for a chapter ending. Also, big shout out to all my reviewers. Honestly, you guys make me smile, even on the crappiest of days.

Chapter Three: The Missing Viscount

"WHAT?"

Someone's voice had rung out, loud and clear, in the seemingly frozen room, and as everyone turned to look at her, Bulma frowned as she realized it had been her. She could not help herself, though—this infuriating man had just entered their home, been nothing but rude to her, and then came to tell her that her brother was his cousin? One could not hear a bombshell like that and be expected to not shout out in shock.

But everyone had only turned to her for a second, before their eyes had swiveled back to the Duke who was standing in the corner of the room, drawing everyone's attention like a magnet. Bulma ignored the urge to glare at the hateful man, an instead her eyes had fallen on her younger brother.

Goku's white face, thin lips and frozen stance alerted her to the inner turmoil he was feeling, letting her know that while she was shocked, Goku was absolutely lost. How could he not be? A proclamation like Vegeta's could not be taken lightly.

Without thinking, Bulma softly whispered, "Goku," walking over to a very dazed looking Goku, knowing that he needed her at that moment, more then she needed to walk over and deck the smug looking Duke who she really, really, really did not like.

Bulma walked straight up to Goku, smiling at him, trying to let him know it would all be okay, putting a hand on his shoulder. At her touch Goku finally looked away from the Duke, staring at her, his features softening as he saw her face. She gave him a nod, trying to wordlessly verbalize that it was going to be okay, and he gave her a slight nod back.

As she dropped her hand from his shoulder, turning away from Goku, to look at the Duke again, Bulma felt Goku's hand wrap around her own. Bulma did not even blink, and instead gave her younger brother's hand a squeeze, as if to say she was there for him, hoping he could get some form of comfort from her familiar grasp. She did not care what this man had come here to say, Goku was, and always would be her little brother.

Without letting go of Goku's hand Bulma forced herself to turn fully towards the Duke, subtly standing slightly in front of Goku as she spoke, needing to clear the air, "look, Vegeta, I appreciate the fact that you have come from London to meet Goku, but you must be mistaken. Goku is my brother, not your cousin. I don't know where you got your information, but it's wrong."

Vegeta barely heard Bulma speak, as he was staring so intently at Kakarrot and her, as he waited for Kakarrot to come to him, to accept the fact that he was his cousin. He had been sure that when he had told this American he was actually British that Kakarrot would be extremely pleased—but instead, Kakarrot just stood there, dumbfounded, looking at Vegeta as if he was a snake. Then the girl had walked to Kakarrot, and Vegeta might have disappeared since Bulma had claimed his attention fully.

Vegeta felt a flash of something perturbed at seeing their ease around each other that he did not allow himself to interpret as he instead registered Bulma's statement. Vegeta tore his gaze away from their joined hands, and frowned at Bulma as he spoke, "he admittedly has a different last name then you do, and yet you call him your brother?"

It was Kakarrot who piped up, answering Vegeta, his familiar black eyes locking with Vegeta as he spoke, "that's because I _am_ their adopted son—but I was raised by my grandfather, Gohan Son, until he died when I was eight, here in America, where I was born." Kakarrot swept his hand towards where the older couple who was still seated, "the Briefs took me in when I was discovered living by myself a year after that, and I have been their son ever since. I can't be the man you are looking for."

Vegeta took a moment to observe the pair silently, shocked at seeing Kakarrot deny his heritage, but showing nothing, as he answered Kakarrot. "You said this Gohan, the person who raised you, was your grandfather, Kakarrot. Who are your parents?"

Bulma frowned at Vegeta's question, and turned to look up at Goku, feeling his hand tighten around her own at Vegeta's words. But Goku only shrugged to the question, eyeing the older man in front of him, "I don't know. It was always just me and grandpa Gohan."

Vegeta crossed his arms, looking triumphant as he cockily asked, "and you have never wondered where your parents were?"

Kakarrot shook his head, looking down at Bulma as he spoke, "I didn't even realize that I was supposed to have parents until I came here. I always thought that it was normal to have it be just me and Grandpa." Kakarrot looked up, back to Vegeta, determined, his voice confident as he spoke, "The Briefs are my parents, they are the only parents I've ever known, the only parents I ever want to know. "

Vegeta took in the way that Kakarrot was starting at him, and felt his patience growing thin quickly. If he were in England, or any of its other colonies, the mere fact that he was a Duke would make it so he would never be questioned—never. The way these Americans, Bulma and Kakarrot, were staring at him, defiant, unbelieving, questioning him, HIM, the Duke of Vegetasei, was unbelievable. He had to fight the rising anger that was inside of him, and forced himself to calmly speak to them. "They are not your parents, though—,"

Kakarrot's steely tone cut him off, his teeth gritted as he spoke, "yes. Yes, they are."

Vegeta let out a soft growl, his anger rising, but rather then respond to his cousin's blatant defiance, Vegeta reached into his pocket, and pulled out a locket, his ace in the hole, which he threw at Kakarrot. Vegeta's interest grew as he saw Kakarrot snatch it from the air without even looking, his reflexes impeccable. That was interesting. But Vegeta had no time to consider this as he watched Kakarrot open his fist, looking at the closed locket, before he handed it to Bulma.

Vegeta frowned inwardly as he saw Bulma turn to Kakarrot, the two huddling closer together, as Bulma carefully looked at the locket, turning it over, examining it. As she finally opened the locket, the clasp clicked loud and clear in the empty room. Vegeta carefully watched the second it took for them to absorb the picture that was inside the locket, smirking as they reacted, Kakarrot's face going stark white, while Bulma let out a loud gasp.

Vegeta knew he had them with the locket, but he made sure his voice was even when he spoke next, resisting the natural urge he had to gloat. "That portrait inside is a commissioned miniature my uncle, Bardock, your father Kakarrot, had done for his mother, my grandmother, the Dowager Duchess of Vegetasei, right before he left for the New World. He left seventeen years ago for Boston, with his wife, and two sons, Radditz, who was four, and Kakarrot, who was not even two years old yet."

Kakarrot's eyes finally lifted from looking at the locket, looking Vegeta straight in the eyes, his mouth set in a firm line as he took in the older man, unknowingly looking exactly like his real father, Bardock. Kakarrot's voice was curious as he met Vegeta's eyes, "what happened to them? Your uncle…Bardock…and his family?"

Vegeta frowned, "after they left for Boston, we did not hear from them, and we assumed the worst." Vegeta looked away from Kakarrot for a moment, looking at the still down-turned blue head of Bulma, unable to look away from the woman when he spoke next, "our fears were later confirmed when we heard that the ship crashed after getting caught in a storm. No one from the ship was said to have survived." Vegeta's eyes lifted from Bulma's head, meeting Kakarrot's unwavering gaze again, "we assumed you had died with everyone else on board, Kakarrot."

When Bulma could finally tear her stare off of the portrait, her eyes were wide as she passed the locket to her parents. She felt speechless. She felt speechless, and numb, and more than a little confused. She felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, and she could only stare dumbfounded.

The man in the locket could be Goku's identical twin. Well, the man in the locket could be Goku's identical twin except for two things—a scar that bisected his lower left cheek, and the grim face the man had. Goku's face was hardly ever not smiling, and she could not imagine Goku's birth parents not being completely genial and amiable like Goku was. How could the unsmiling person in the locket be Goku's father?

Bulma heard her mother's gasp behind her, her fathers "I say," but she ignored them both as she turned back to Goku. Seeing his face set in a frown, one that made him look EXACTLY like this Bardock, Bulma's own numbness disappeared as it was replaced by concern for her younger brother. She whispered his name softly, trying to let him know that everything would be okay, but he only responded by squeezing her still clasped hand again.

There was a silence as the whole room tried to process the information the Duke had brought to their home, before Vegeta spoke again, breaking the silence. "Look Kakarrot—"

Goku seemed to hit some sort of breaking point, and shocked everyone in the room by raising his voice to the Duke, "that's not my name! Stop calling me that! I am Goku Son, an American, not some cousin of a British Duke!"

Vegeta's lips grew thin, his eyes flashing dangerously, "that is your name, Kakarrot, and I will call you that whenever I please, because I am a Duke, and that's truly who you are—my cousin."

Goku emphatically shook his head, his grim face turning angry, "no, no I'm not! I don't care if you're the King of England! I am not Kakarrot, and I don't have to listen to you!"

"You will show me the respect I deserve as both your cousin and as a Duke!"

"I will do no such thing, as you have not earned my respect, and we could never be family!"

Bulma's head swiveled between the two men, as the tension in the room rose with both of their voices, feeling as if she was about to witness something monumental. Vegeta took a step closer to them, and Goku let go of her hand, and pushed Bulma behind him, getting into a fighters stance. The tension in the room was so thick, one could choke on it, and Bulma was afraid that things were about to get physical. Goku was not a violent man by nature, but he was a fighter, and if he felt like the Duke would cause any harm to the family, Bulma knew that Goku would do everything he could to protect them.

So Bulma grabbed Goku's hand again, knowing she was physically incapable of holding her younger brother back, but that she could still try and calm him. She knew Goku was strong, but something about this Duke…she just knew she did not want Goku impulsively rushing into a fight with him. Goku looked back at her, frowning as she tugged at his hand, trying to stop what seemed to be inevitable at that point.

But just as it seemed as if the two men were about to swing, Dr. Briefs voice carried across the room, commanding everyone's attention, "well, this is a lot to try and comprehend, my lord, as I'm sure you can appreciate. Goku means you no disrespect, but I think everyone in this room can agree that it seems we are at a stalemate, as you are convinced Goku is this Kakarrot, and Goku is convinced he is not."

Vegeta, who Bulma watched out of the corner of her eye, gave a slight nod, before Dr. Briefs continued, "I think we need to speak to the turtle hermit and his sister. They should be able to clear up Goku's past, as they are the one's who brought him to us after Gohan Son died." Dr. Briefs turned towards Goku, "Goku, would you tell Bernard we need to have the carriage sent to them?"

Goku looked at the only man he had ever called father, nodding once before he left the room to go find the butler, without even a backwards glance to Vegeta. Bulma let out a breathe as the tension in the room dialed down to a much more bearable (and un-hostile) level, and Bulma silently thanked her genius father for breaking up a fight before it even had the chance to happen.

Another silence descended upon the room as soon as Goku left, and Bulma felt her eyes drawn to the Duke, who was silently staring at the door Goku had just left through. She used his distraction to study him, closely, looking at him, not with the eyes of an attracted woman, but as the scientist she was. Vegeta's face was set, cold, angry, and impassive—the complete opposite of anything she had ever used to describe her (admittedly) adopted brother. But could it be true? Could the boy she had called brother for over ten years truly be the cousin of a British Duke?

Before she could really contemplate the question, Goku reappeared at the doorway, claiming everyone's attention as he looked to her parents, informing them, "Bernard sent the carriage, and said they should arrive first thing in the morning."

Her father nodded, smiling at Goku, which seemed to relax the tiniest bit. Goku finally entered the room fully, taking his place by Bulma's side again. As soon as he was next to her, his hand reached for hers, and she wrapped her hand around his own, her fingers sliding between his, trying to comfort him. When she looked up to him, she frowned when she saw that Goku's eyes were locked, once again, with Vegeta's. Bulma had to resist the urge to shiver as an intensity crackled between Goku and Vegeta, almost like sparks of energy, as they continued to stare at each other.

Bulma forced herself to speak, knowing it was the only way to break the tension between the two. She forced herself to look directly at Vegeta, asking the question she knew Goku would not, claiming everyone's attention as she spoke, "what happens if Goku is this Kakarrot person? Where do we go from there?"

Vegeta turned to look at her, and Bulma forced herself to keep her gaze even with him, even as she felt a heat spread across her body. Bulma was starting to realize she would not like to be alone with this man, ever. Something about him frightened her—and not just because he was scary (which he was), but because of the emotions he invoked in her. She did not want to feel like this—especially for this man, who had come to rip her life apart.

Vegeta finally spoke, low and slowly, answering her question, "when it is proven that he," motioning towards Goku, "is Kakarrot, then he comes with me back to England, where he can assume the Viscount title and land holdings that are his birthright. He has responsibilities in England that are waiting for him."

Bulma's eyes widened, shocked for what felt like the hundredth time that day (and somewhat shocked she could even still register shock at that moment), "Goku is a viscount?"

Vegeta shook his head, chuckling at her question, before his eyes met Goku's again, "no, Goku isn't." His lips set in a firm line of determination as he continued, "Kakarrot is."

Bulma could only softly murmur, "oh," before she too fell silent.

Before silence could choke the room again, Mrs. Briefs spoke, her voice calm and sure as she said, "well, since the only person who can answer some questions won't be arriving until tomorrow, my Lord, why don't you join us for supper tonight and stay here? The inn at town is not up to standards for one such as yourself, and we have plenty of bedrooms that would suit you, I'm sure."

Vegeta looked at her mother, briefly, weighing her words, before he nodded. "I will stay here tonight as it will be more convenient in the morning if I am already here when this turtle hermit arrives. But I will not be joining you for supper, as there are some things I need to discuss with my valet in private. Please send food up to my chambers, instead."

Mrs. Briefs only nodded, but Bulma felt an irrational surge of anger at the Duke and his requests, and his bombshells. How dare this man? How dare he come with the sole purpose of taking her brother away? How dare he go about commanding everyone as if he was the bloody prince of England, and they were nothing but peasants? They were the Briefs, dammit, not some backwards family that would fall over themselves at his request to take one of them away. She was Bulma Briefs, and she would bend to no man!

And this man, this Duke—he could not even eat dinner with the family he had come to rip apart? Did he have so little respect for them that he would not join them for a simple meal?

Bulma felt her shock melting away, giving way to an irrational anger, one that was directly centered at the Duke. She began to gear up for one of her infamous tirades, her lips thinning, her blood pounding in her ears, and she took a half step forward, towards the Duke. But she could get no further as Goku held her hand tighter, holding her back, drawing her attention. Bulma tugged at her hand, longing to free it so she could slap this man, but when Goku did not let go, she finally looked at him, shocked to see his eyes pleading with her, as he minutely shook his head.

He was trying to tell her no, that it was not worth it, and though she longed to disagree, Bulma only nodded back, understanding the silent entreaty from her younger brother. She sighed, the fight leaving her just as quickly as it had come, before she sighed, and turned back to the Duke, resigning herself to glaring at him from where she stood. But Bulma was completely surprised to find Vegeta watching Goku and Bulma with anger in his eyes, as his eyes traveled from her face, to where Goku and Bulma were still holding hands, back to her faced, there eyes clashing, black meeting blue, once again.

Bulma felt her curiosity grown, as well as her confusion, but in trying to read Vegeta's thoughts, to understand where his anger was coming from, he, once again, closed off his face from her, making it impossible to know what he was thinking. Bulma quirked her lip, sardonically, realizing that with the Duke, this was not unusual. He was not an emotional person, and any flashes of humanity were quickly hidden so he could go back to being more machine than man.

As she continued to stare at him, contemplating him, Vegeta turned back towards her brother, his voice stern. "Kakarrot," Goku's head turned at hearing his 'name,' and Vegeta continued, "tomorrow, when it is proven that you are my cousin, I will want to leave almost immediately so we can get to my ship by tomorrow night, and sail back to England in two days time."

Goku's jaw clenched, though he released it as he spoke, "_if_ it is proven you are my cousin you mean."

For the first time since meeting him, a slow smile spread across the Duke's face, changing the hard planes and angles of his handsome face. The smile altered Vegeta's face, transforming his handsomeness, giving him more accessibility, making him more…human. But before she could become too entranced by the smile, she realized it had a cruel edge to it, as this smile was not just confident—it was cocky, self-assured. "No, Kakarrot, I do not mean _if_, I meant _when_." Before anyone could say anything in response to that, Vegeta simply nodded once, before he left the room, disappearing before any other questions could be asked.

There was yet another stunned silence that descended upon the room, though this one was quickly broken by Mrs. Briefs sighing, "well Bulma dear…I don't know if you should marry him, even if he is quite handsome."

Bulma's mouth dropped open, before her eyes met Goku's, and though neither of them were in a particularly good mood after the meeting, they grinned at each other, before Bulma turned to her mom, rolling her eyes, and letting out a frustrated, "mother!"

Vegeta was standing with his hands behind his back, facing the window, lost in thought, when he heard a knock on his door. Without turning, he murmured, "enter."

He heard the door creak open, and heavy footsteps entered the room, alerting Vegeta to the fact that it was Nappa who had just entered the room. Especially when the footsteps ended right before the impressive offering of food the Briefs servants had brought up, the groan of the chair testament to the large man sitting before the food. Vegeta still did not turn, even as Nappa questioned, "so are we leaving tonight?"

Vegeta frowned, seeing his reflection in the glass, before he finally sighed, turning away from the window to look at his inferior, who was grabbing at the food and drink like a man who had not eaten in days. "No, Kakarrot refused to believe me, and we have to wait until tomorrow morning for some hermit to confirm what we know to be true."

Nappa stopped from drinking from his goblet, his displeasure obvious on his face, "what? We're stuck here tonight?"

Vegeta lip thinned with his distaste, as he joined Nappa at the table, but he nodded, waiting for the man to gulp down some more wine before he queried, "what did you find out?"

Nappa shrugged, placing the empty wine goblet down, looking Vegeta in the eye. "Not much that we didn't know. The only thing they would tell me is that this 'Goku' is the Briefs adopted son, and that the family is extremely rich and smart. I tried to bribe, I tried to intimidate, but they all have nothing to say of worth. Even the stable hands are loyal to these Briefs, refusing to let secrets slip."

Vegeta nodded, realizing that the wealthy Briefs would not be foolish enough to employ servants who would talk. Especially since Dr. Briefs' inventions were considered nothing short of miracles, revolutionizing the way people lived, and would need to be closely guarded before he obtained patents. The servants would be paid well for their silence, and they would not be likely to spread gossip about a family that gave them such good wages. But this did not help Vegeta.

Vegeta felt himself growing restless as he continued to watch Nappa eat and drink, so he stood from the table, facing out the windows he had originally been staring out of, as he took in the dark grounds, speaking to the window as he said, "you will need to go into town then, and see if anyone there is more willing to speak to us about the Briefs. Go to the tavern, find a barmaid or drunkard who is more ready to talk about the family, I want to know all of their secrets."

Nappa grunted his assent, finishing off the rest of the wine and food, before he stood, heading towards the door, before Vegeta's voice stopped him. "Oh, and Nappa, see what you can find out about that shop keep from earlier, as well as Bulma."

Nappa's mood had lifted when he had heard that Vegeta wanted to find out more about the shop keep (Nappa figured it would lead to him being able to finally teach that boy some manners), but frowned at the mention of that girl, "the Briefs daughter?" He was so confused he could not stop the second question that popped from his mouth, though he knew he was not likely to get an answer, "why?"

Vegeta's head turned, his eyes flashing dangerously at his subordinate's questions, "it is of none of your concern."

Nappa only blinked, slowly, once, before he nodded again, then hurried from the room, knowing that it was unwise to push Vegeta when he was in this kind of mood.

Vegeta waited until Nappa was gone until he let his stance relax, still looking out to the night sky, contemplative as he thought of his request to Nappa. It had not been planned, but something about the shop keep was bugging him, and something about the Briefs daughter definitely had him intrigued. He frowned at that last thought, before rubbing his face with his hand, sighing.

She was a rude, bratty girl, who was begging for someone to teach her some manners. But she was also warm, flesh and blood, and he desired her beyond compare. He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, to see if it was soft as it looked, he wanted to taste her lips to see if they would be as sweet as they promised, or tart as the anger she had spewed at him, and he especially wanted to see her naked, writhing underneath him, those red lips moaning as he drove himself into her warm sheath, over and over again.

Vegeta moaned at this last thought, his head rising as he met his own flashing eyes in the glass, barely resisting the urge to reach down, cupping his suddenly heavy erection. He had iron control over his body, and he forced himself to stare at only his face in the glass, willing the suddenly too hot blood that flowed through his veins to chill, for the fantasy of Bulma naked before him to disappear, before he relaxed his frozen stance.

When his erection subsided, Vegeta finally walked from the window, and sat in front of the meal, forcing himself to eat, and to forget about that blue-hared woman. Whatever it was about the daughter that was intriguing him was nothing but a minor distraction that he needed to be squashed out, before he did something stupid.

Like try and seduce the extremely desirable chit.

Much later that night, Vegeta made his way to the family wing of the Briefs mansion, keeping his eyes and ears alert for the sounds of anyone else moving around at this extremely late hour. Satisfied that he was alone, Vegeta strode silently to where he had earlier learned Kakarrot's room was, though he made sure to keep to the side of the hallway, staying in the shadows of the darkened mansion.

Vegeta had originally been intending to wait until tomorrow to speak to Kakarrot again, but Vegeta wanted to speak to him alone, and he was unsure of being able to do so if Kakarrot refused to leave his 'sisters' side, like he had earlier that day. Kakarrot did not seem willing to speak to him alone, anyways, so Vegeta wanted to catch him off-guard, in his room, where he could more fully explain the legacy he was inheriting by becoming part of the Vegeta clan.

So Vegeta made his way cautiously down the dark hallway, allowing his finely tuned senses to guide him in the dark. Just as he was about to come to the door he knew to be Kakarrot's, Vegeta felt a prickle of awareness that someone else was in the hallway with him, and he instantly moved, flattening himself against the opposite wall, behind some curtains, where he had a perfect view of Kakarrot's door.

Not a second later, the sound of footsteps on carpet became clearer, and Vegeta cautiously looked out to find Bulma making her way boldly to Kakarrot's room. She was dressed as if she was going to sleep, a dressing robe pulled over a matronly white nightgown, but her hair was loose around her shoulders. Her hair came down to her waist, in soft, blue waves, and he found himself battling the desire to reach out and touch the long, silky looking strands.

As she moved, silently along the carpet, he saw the way the flame of her candle caught the highlights of her hair, shimmering ocean blue in the light, dark midnight blue in the shadows. His mouth went dry, and he felt the swell of desire from earlier erupt within him. Something dark and primitive in him wanted to grab her, pull her into the shadows where he stood, and completely ravish her.

But he did not, and instead tried to rid himself of the baser instincts he felt around this girl. He now knew he had gone way too long without a woman, if the mere sight of this girls hair was causing his senses to go into complete overdrive. He closed his eyes, and slowed his heart rate, breathing, taking control of his body, and his mind, before he opened his eyes again, observing the girl, critically, rather then sensually.

What was she up to? Was she on her way to her own room? His frown deepened when he saw her stop right in front of Kakarrot's door. He resisted the urge to growl, and instead silently observed as she lifted her hand as if to knock, before freezing, her whole body stilling, before she turned, peering into the darkness, straight to the curtains Vegeta was hiding behind.

Vegeta flattened himself further, unnecessarily since the hallway was already so dark, as Bulma continued to stare at him, and he fought the urge to show himself, and take her in his arms—whether to throttle her, or to kiss her, though, he was not sure. Finally, satisfied that she was alone (her senses were as sharp as her wits, Vegeta wryly noted), Bulma nodded, before she turned back to the door, softly knocking. Not a second later Kakarrot opened the door, a frown on his face.

The second he saw his 'sister,' Kakarrot's frown turned into a smile, and he pulled the woman into his arms, holding her to him as they stood in the hallway, their arms wrapped around each other. Vegeta watched with curiosity as Bulma's head tucked under Kakarrot's chin, her arms wrapping around his back, the two of them looking extremely comfortable. After a few moments of hugging, Goku pulled back, smiling at her, before he grabbed her hand, and pulled her into the black of his room, both of them disappearing as Kakarrot shut the door.

Vegeta waited a few more seconds to make sure they would not emerge again, or that anyone else was up and about, before he moved from where he had been partially hidden, frowning at the now closed doorway to Kakarrot's room, thinking about what he had seen between the two of them all day today. Not only had he seen Bulma enter Kakarrot's room at a very inappropriate hour, but earlier, their hands had been constantly joined…it was hard not to draw conclusions about what the actual relationship between the two of them was.

They might call each other brother and sister, but they were both aware that there was no blood relationship between them, and Vegeta was not surprised if what had been childhood companionship had grown into a more mature, adult sort of relationship. Vegeta frowned at himself as he walked back to his room, partly angry from having been denied a private audience with Kakarrot, but, angrier about the conclusions he was drawing about Bulma and Kakarrot. He had to bluntly ask himself, were they lovers?

Did it matter if they were?

Vegeta's frown turned into a scowl when he realized that it did.

A/N: Phew, a lot to get through in that chapter. I'm not sure I like how it turned out, as I generally tend to write more comedies then dramas, but there is no way of avoiding the drama in a story such as this. Next chapter, we get some more answers, and find out who Goku really is


	5. When it Rains

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing.

A/N: I know I promised to reveal Goku's origins in this chapter, but honestly, this part got away from me, and so it will have to be next chapter where we get some answers. Hopefully this chapter will appease anyone hoping to start a mob riot over my unintentional lie.

Love to my reviewers, as usual, and for those of you who were asking, there will be some more characters from the DBZ/DB universe throughout the story. It's more fun that way.

Chapter Four: When It Rains…

The next morning, Bulma was awake much earlier than usual, though 'awake' was a relative term. Yes, she was out of bed, yes, she was dressed, yes, she was sitting at the breakfast table, yes, she had a fork in her hand loaded with food—but no sane human being would call her awake.

Her eyes were barely open, and she kept nodding her head, barely catching herself from falling asleep in her breakfast more than a half dozen times in the last five minutes. She could not even bring herself to bring the fork the six inches to her mouth, as chewing seemed beyond impossible right now. Hell, even holding the fork seemed like the hardest task ever, and Bulma could not help but keep sighing at the food rather than eating it.

When a scullery maid entered the room with a fresh pot of coffee, Bulma perked up just enough to motion for some, staring greedily as her cup was filled, before slugging it down, and motioning for more once again. Coffee was currently her favorite thing ever, and she would gladly give up one of her limbs for more of it.

Bulma Briefs was not, and would never be, a morning person. She was much more of a burn the midnight oil type, preferring to stay up late in the night and watching the sunrise—rather than waking up early to see it. But here she was, before anyone else in the household it seemed, trying to eat a forkful of food. But the coffee had not seemed to take a hold of her yet, and the fork was still ridiculously heavy. Bulma finally gave up on the fork, and instead reached for a piece of fruit, reasoning that she could eat that much easier, as no utensils were involved.

While Bulma was picking up a small orange, her father entered the room, whistling as he took his seat at the head of the table, opening his paper, ruffling it, before he froze, shook the paper closed, and looked over at his daughter, his blue eyes wide as he took her in, a long whistle escaping his lips.

If Bulma was awake, she would have smirked, knowing her fathers shock stemmed from seeing her here at the breakfast table—something that she had not done in years. But she was not awake, and so she did not notice her fathers stare as she concentrated on the orange, trying to figure out how to get the peel off of the exceedingly stubborn fruit. She finally jerked her head up from the fruit when her father's worried voice caught her attention, "Bulma dear, are you all right?"

Bulma looked up from the very ineffectual peel job she was attempting, frowning at the orange, before looking up at her father, who was sitting at the opposite end of the very long table, frowning at him too, "of course father, why do you ask?"

Dr. Briefs peered at her, but only smiled when he saw nothing glaringly obvious wrong with her, before he opened his paper again, his voice muffled as he spoke from behind it. "Just wondering if there was a particular reason you decided to grace us with your presence before noon."

Bulma only scowled at her father (though she knew he could not see her), thinking about why she was awake so Kami-awfully early. It was not because she had gone to bed early, that was for sure. She had been up late, worrying about Goku, waiting until the whole house was asleep before slipping into his room, seeking him out, making sure he was okay. The night before, at dinner, he had barely eaten his thirds, which for Goku was a miracle in and of itself, and she could not help but try to make sure he was okay. So she had gone to his room, offering him comfort.

They had stayed up late, talking about the future, about what finding out the truth about his past would entail, and what would happen _if_ (not _when_) he went to England. Bulma had known Goku long enough to realize that he was…not scared, she had never seen Goku scared, but she knew he did not want to go to England by himself, or with this Vegeta character. So Bulma had thought of a plan, a way to make sure he would not have to.

She doubted she could completely extract him from the Duke's clutches (her plan to bolt in the night was shot down with a smile from Goku, though she had been partially serious), but she would use all of her wits to make sure that Goku did not end up alone, at the mercy of the British prig. So they had thought, talked, and planned, and finally reached something in the wee hours of the morning.

Which had entailed Bulma waking up early, so she could catch her father and talk to him, alone, putting her plan into motion. She just had not realize how hard it was to actually do anything when she was this sleepy. Everything had seemed so much easier last night, but now, as the harsh daylight streamed through the windows…. She could barely peel the orange she wanted to eat, let alone make coherent sentences.

She finally got a few pieces of the orange free from its peel, a satisfied smile on her face as she plopped them in her mouth, closing her eyes with the sweet taste of victory. She then frowned again, as her eyes popped open, when she realized she was taking pride from the fact that she had peeled a fruit that a two-year old could. She looked down at her plate, and sighed when she saw she had only gotten a few slices of the fruit in her mouth, the rest a juicy mess on her hands and plate.

She definitely was not a morning person.

Maybe now would not be the best time to talk to her father—but what other options did she have? Once the turtle hermit and his sister were here, Vegeta had made it clear that the second he had the information he wanted, him, and most likely Goku, would be gone. She was not sure when she would get the opportunity to talk to her father alone again, and she needed his cooperation for the plan to work.

But she had to admit, in the morning, she was having second thoughts about going through with what she so easily promised Goku last night. In fact, she might have been using sleepiness as an excuse for not yet bringing up her plan to her father, because there were certain…factors…that made it hard for her to imagine going through with the plan. But she kept thinking of her brother, reminding herself that this was for him. And for her, because she did not want to lose Goku.

So Bulma made her decision (tentatively) to talk to her dad, and tried to remember the speech she had planned last night, to convince her father to go along with her plan—but found herself at a loss as to what her carefully planned words were. She let out a sigh, and finally looked her father in the eye—only to find the paper was still covering his face, and she frowned. How could she sweet talk her father into doing what she wanted if he could not see her puppy dog eyes?

She was just ruminating on an plan of action to get him to put the newspaper down (and do exactly what she wanted) when his voice came to her over the paper, "you're not awake so early because its Thursday, are you?"

Bulma blinked, slow on the uptake, wondering what was so special about Thursday. When the synapses in her sleep-deprived brain finally fired, she bolted upright, staring at her father, suddenly alert, "it's Thursday?"

Dr. Briefs folded the top half of the paper to meet her eye, his usual smile on his face, "indeed, it is." He paused, reaching for his coffee and taking a sip, before he continued, "Goku's sparring partner usually arrives in the next half hour or so. So anyone who would want to meet him, maybe surprise him, should probably head to the stables."

Bulma stood from her chair, suddenly very awake as a large smile split her face. She caught her father's speculative eye, and she fought the blush the she felt creeping onto her cheeks as she spoke, "I think I'll just…go for a walk. Check on Moonshine."

Dr. Briefs chuckled, sliding the paper back up, "of course. Your horse often asks for you this early in the morning."

But Bulma missed the sardonic edge to his voice, as she was too busy reasoning with herself. She needed to talk to Yamcha, Goku's long time sparring partner, for her plan to work anyways. Especially as he was the biggest reason she doubted her plan today. She needed to talk to him, make sure it would be okay if she was not here. She wanted him to know that just because she was gone, did not mean that their plans for the future were changed.

She needed to make him understand why she was doing this, so she needed to talk to him alone. Once Goku and Yamcha started to fight, it would be impossible to get him alone, so this was the only opportunity she would have to speak to him one on one. Her father, on the other hand, lived here, and he was not going anywhere. She could talk to him about her plan whenever. So it was settled. She would talk to Yamcha first—her father could wait.

Still, before she completely left the room, she made sure to tell her dad, "I'll only be gone a few minutes. I need to have a private audience with you when I get back."

Her father met her eye, and seeing her determined glint (one he was very used to), gave her a nod, before the paper was back up, a barrier between the pair of them.

But Bulma was already gone from the room, hurriedly taking the path down to the stables, knowing that Yamcha would have to ride there first before he came to the house for his and Goku's usual match up. She could head him off there, and maybe get a private minute or two alone with him.

She knew he was not going to like the plan her and Goku had settled on, as it would mean they would not get the winter months together, like they usually did. But this was for her brother, and she was sure once she explained the full plan to Yamcha, she hoped he would understand. Especially as giving up the few months they had together seemed harder and harder the more she thought about it. She only increased her speed to get to him faster, knowing that if she did put her plan into action, she would have to treasure every precious moment she would have with Yamcha.

Bulma finally made it into the stables, but frowned when she found it completely deserted, wondering how long she would have to wait for Yamcha to show up. She was an impatient woman (one of her few faults, she ceded), and she did not like waiting for him. By herself, in the empty, looming stables.

Where was Yamcha, and where were the stable hands?

She shrugged, realizing that in the mornings she had not a single clue what the stables were like. When she appeared for her afternoon ride, they were bustling with activity—but maybe the mornings were a quieter time? Well, at least she could talk to Yamcha alone here…once he actually showed up.

She sighed, before walking over to her private stall in the back where the love of her life, her horse, Moonshine, stood, her silver hide shining. Bulma quickly grabbed a carrot from a sitting carrier bag, and walked over. Moonshine came to her immediately, munching on the carrot as Bulma ran her hands along her horses smooth mane. She had just been brushed, and as Bulma ran her ungloved hand along her silky hide, she found herself lost in thought.

The Bandit's, Yamcha's family, had lived in this area much longer than the Briefs had, and Goku and Yamcha, though four years apart, had become sparring partners almost as soon as the Briefs had built their winter residence outside of the city. Bulma and Yamcha had been shy around each other at first (well Yamcha had been shy around all girls at that point), but as Yamcha had continued to come over to fight with Goku, they had grown more comfortable with each other, and slowly but surely they had built a relationship of sorts together.

It had been a slow start to a relationship, but they had been together for a couple of years now. At social events in the area he always danced attendance on her, and filled her dance card with his name, while calling on her for tea every few days (or whenever him and Goku sparred). Though, she had to admit, as the years had passed, and his shyness towards girls had faded, Yamcha had not been as attentive to her as he had always been.

But she only got like this when he was not around—once Yamcha was focused on her, all of her doubts about just who he was flirting with, or who he had been talking to, and dancing with, were gone. He made her feel so special…. Recently he had been hinting that he was going to be asking for her hand soon, and Bulma got all dreamy thinking about being married.

Bulma was pulled from her musings about Yamcha when she heard a noise coming from an empty stall across from Moonshine's. Bulma stilled her hand from stroking Moonshine, frowning in the direction of the stall. As silence reined, she shook her head, wondering if she had imagined the sound (on account of it being still super early) when she heard it again, louder this time. Very definitely she had heard a rustle, and if she was not mistaken, the sound of a giggle.

Bulma's curiosity got the better of her, and she abandoned Moonshine to walk over, creeping carefully along the hay-strewn ground, trying not to make any noise as she approached the stall. As she got closer she could make out whispering, and her natural curiosity took over, edging her closer to the seemingly empty stall. She had to wait a few moments, but then she heard a female voice she recognized as Winnie's, one of her chamber maids, whisper, "ohh, stop that, we're going to get caught."

The other voice, a male she did not recognize, though she could tell it was husky, answered Winnie, "no we're not. There's no one here. The stable boys are off, eating their breakfast, and no one from the house will be down here for hours."

Another rustle, another giggle, and Bulma strained to recognize the male's voice, but could not place it to anyone who worked on the Briefs' property. When the only sounds coming from the seemingly empty stable were the sounds of moaning, and slurping, Bulma turned to go, her cheeks blood red at catching two of the servants in the stables, embarrassed at the position her curiosity had put her in.

She was about to walk away, when her own name being spoken made her freeze to the very spot. Winnie's voice was sharp as she spoke next, "and what about Bulma?"

This time the male chuckled, "what about Bulma? She won't be up for hours yet. There's no way she would ever know about this."

Bulma felt all the blood leaving her face, as the chuckle made the male voice suddenly clear as day. But that was impossible—it could not be who she thought it was…could it?

But then there was another giggle, and all of her suspicions were confirmed as Winnie moaned, "oh Yamcha…"

As her worst fears were confirmed, Bulma felt sick, weak, and considered fleeing from the stable, so she could empty her stomach's contents just outside the doorway. But it was only for a moment that Bulma considered running, before her pride reared its head, her anger not far behind, making her feel reckless and invincible—a dangerous pair.

Bulma was barely cognizant as she found herself marching over to the "empty" stall, reaching in, opening it, and looking at the two dumbstruck lovers within it, her eyes freezing them to the spot. Before either could react, Bulma spoke low, a sure sign she was beyond angry, "Winnie, please remove yourself from the premises before noon, and seek employ elsewhere, and Yamcha…" she did not even bother to finish the sentence, only slamming the stall door closed, before turning, and storming away from the stall.

She stalked from the stables, uncaring of the sound of the pair moving behind her, Yamcha's voice floating after her as she practically ran back down the path she had just trod, "Bulma, wait…" but she did not stop. She only stomped away, her anger making her feel out of control.

As she got further from the stables, her anger, her embarrassment, and her disbelief warred within her, making her feel slightly sick. She pressed her palms to her closed eyes, trying to fight the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes, hot and angry.

No man made Bulma Briefs cry!

When she heard the sound of heavy boots chasing after her, from the direction of the stables, Bulma panicked, wanting to put distance between herself and Yamcha. She considered running through the shortcut she knew that led to the house through the hedges, just wanting to get away.

But then Vegeta had rounded the corner behind the hedges, leading a horse, coming directly towards her, his body freezing as he saw her, stopping not five feet from where she currently stood. His black eyes clashed with her own blue ones, and Bulma felt her breath hitch as she saw how…fetching, he looked in his riding kit.

In a split second, Bulma made an impetuous decision, and ran to him, looking up at him, her eyes and voice pleading as she thought of a plan that would give her a modicum of her pride back. "For the love of Kami, play along with what I am about to do."

Vegeta's hands stiffened on the reins he held, as his voice came out low, "why?"

Bulma heard Yamcha fast approaching, and she quickly whispered, "because my pride is on the line." She heard Yamcha turning the last bend to where they stood, only a few feet away, and without waiting for Vegeta's agreement, Bulma threw her hands on Vegeta's shoulders, and stood on her tiptoes to put her face even with his, before she very hurriedly pushed her lips against his. Though she was extremely worried about what she was doing, Bulma registered the instant spark she felt as her lips pressed against the Duke's (surprisingly) soft ones, and she had to fight not to lose herself in the unplanned kiss.

Vegeta had risen early that morning (as was his custom), still waiting for word from Nappa about what he had discovered in the village. Since Nappa had not returned late in the night, Vegeta could only assume the man had found either a fight to get his aggression out, or a woman to dull his passions with, and would not be seen until later in the morning.

Waiting in his room would prove fruitless (and maddening), so he had decided to eat some breakfast then go for a brisk ride, in yet another attempt to rid himself to the sensual demon the rest of the world knew as Bulma. His dreams had been filled with her, her soft hands, her silky skin and hair, her hot mouth, her tight…needless to say, he had woken up rather uncomfortable, and needing to flee his room.

As he had made his way downstairs to the breakfast room though, Vegeta had been surprised to see only Bulma sitting in the morning room, and he had found himself freezing on the stairs where he could see her but she could not see him. What was she doing here? Was she an early riser? He frowned as her head had plunged, before rocketing back up, and he realized she had almost fallen asleep in her chair. His grip had turned hard on the rail as his mind filled with lurid images of what had kept her up late last night. Her 'brother,' right?

So he had immediately changed his plans, and made his way straight to the stables so he could go on a ride, wanting to do nothing more than to pound the ground with hooves, riding rapid and hard. He had pushed his horse fast and far, but had come back a short time later when his stomach let him know he could not avoid eating any more.

Hopefully, by now, Bulma would not be in the morning room, so he could eat in peace, away from the lustful images that seemed to follow him whenever she was around. He should be completely and totally focused on the problem with Kakarrot, not worrying about some blue-hared girl, and yet…

He had just been leading his horse back to the stables when the very person he had been trying so hard to not think about had rounded the corner, looking as if she was running from something. As soon as their eyes had met, he had frozen to the spot, wondering what kind of spell this witch had over him as he felt his heart beat quicken.

When Bulma had run straight to him, he had been beyond surprised, and he took in her harried experience, her pale skin, her red cheeks, her parted lips. It did not take a genius to figure out that Bulma was distressed, but he had been shocked when she had come to him with her plea for help. She did not seem the type of woman who asked for help often, and he had been surprised by the strong desire that had come over him to do anything she asked.

He had tried to get out of it, distressed by the odd feelings going through him, but she had mentioned pride, and Vegeta felt something like understanding dawn on him. The emotion of pride was one he could understand very well, since he knew how important it could be. Before he could blink, though, she had pressed her lips to his, and he had been completely shocked, the meeting of their lips hitting him like a bolt of lightning.

The first sensation that hit him was taste, and though he kept his lips firmly closed, he could smell, and almost taste, the citrusy taste of fruit, an orange, perhaps, on her lips. Next was the realization of how soft her lips were against his firm mouth, and he had to fight the desire to open his mouth to hers, prompting her into a deeper kiss. Third, his eyes sought out her own, and he was confused when he saw they were wide open, looking straight into his, pleading.

After these three thoughts, he regained some control of his body, and his hands came up to grasp her waist, to push her away from him, but her claws tightened their grip on his shoulders, pulling her body flush against his. If he had thought desire had been coursing through his veins before, he was dead wrong. His blood turned into fire, his heart began beating faster then he though possible, his skin and clothes suddenly feeling way too tight for his body.

Vegeta was considering on following through the impulse he had to dig his fingers into her hips, pulling her groin to his, when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. He flicked his eyes past Bulma to see an extremely startled young man, who was standing at the bend, watching the pair of them, before his scarred face became clouded with fury.

Seeing the young man coming towards them, Vegeta, without thought, broke the extremely chaste kiss, and placed himself between Bulma and the menacing man. The young man, scowled at this motion, but looked past Vegeta, straight at Bulma, "what the hell is this?"

Vegeta had to fight his surprise at seeing the man talk to the heiress like that, but then his eyes had narrowed as he took in the athletic build of the young man—was he another lover of this woman's? He had heard that American girls had looser morals…but two lovers, really? Should he really be that surprised when she had so willingly kissed him? He resisted the urge he had to turn to Bulma, and ask the same question scar-face had just asked.

Bulma moved from behind Vegeta, trying to remain angry, when she was more surprised with both the kiss, and how Vegeta had placed himself between her and Yamcha in what could only be called a protective gesture. Maybe he was only acting a part, but something about the quickness of the motion made her think he had done it on instinct.

She was not sure what to think about that, so she turned to Yamcha instead, her anger easy to understand and grab a hold of, "what does it look like Yamcha?"

Yamcha strode a few steps closer, though he broke off as he heard Vegeta snarl as he placed an arm out to keep Bulma back, stopping to take in the smaller man, "who the hell is this man, Bulma?"

Bulma frowned at Vegeta's arm, but turned her ire on her now ex-beau, "this is the Duke of Vegetasei." Bulma wanted to scream something else, something about Vegeta being her fiancé, but she held back that desire, knowing how quickly news traveled in this village. She would just have to be satisfied in knowing she was hitting a very sore spot of Yamcha's—he claimed he had not asked for her hand in marriage yet because of his ranking, though she now had to wonder if that was the real reason…. But that was besides the point. Yamcha hated that he was just the son of farmers, and to see his girl with a real live Duke was sure to upset him. Good!

Yamcha's face had reddened as he had realized the short man was a Peer, and he began cracking his knuckles. "Yeah well, he was kissing my girl, and I don't care if he's the King of England—no one touches you but me Bulma."

Bulma scoffed at Yamcha, "I'm not your girl Yamcha. Or at least I wasn't five minutes ago when I saw your hand up Winnie's dress in the stable."

Yamcha blanched, looking past her, his voice weak, "I can explain…"

Bulma put her hand up, so angry she was seeing red, "no need to. Whatever we had is finished Yamcha."

Yamcha looked flabbergasted, but then he quickly swiveled to look at Vegeta, taking in the much smaller man, feeling his anger at his own stupidity at being caught transfer to this man in front of him. Bulma and him had been happy until this Duke, or whatever, had come onto the scene—it was obviously his fault that things had changed! Yamcha got into his fighting stance, before advancing "you're going to pay."

Bulma felt fear as she saw Yamcha bear down on Vegeta. Vegeta had a hidden strength, she realized, but Yamcha was a trained pugilist. He made money by beating up other men for a living, and Bulma did not want Vegeta to have to take a few punches for her. She quickly grabbed Vegeta's arm, turning him, "go, run. I can take care of this."

Something in Vegeta's eyes caused her to freeze, and she was absolutely shocked to see a devious smirk spread across his face, "hold the reins, please."

Bulma could only stare with her mouth open, and when she did not respond, Vegeta smoothly tucked the reins in her hands, before he quickly turned to the approaching Yamcha. So quickly, she could barely be sure of what she had seen, Vegeta cocked his fist back and punched Yamcha squarely in the face, a crunching sound heralding the breaking of some bones.

Bulma let out a gasp as she saw Vegeta turn back towards her, grabbing his horse's reins, before Yamcha had even finished hitting the ground. She stared wordlessly at Vegeta, surprised to see the smirk on his face turn into an unfiltered smile that transformed his whole face, as he cracked his knuckles, giving her a slight bow, before continuing towards the stables.

Bulma's mouth remained open as Vegeta disappeared around the bend, and she was finally drawn back to Yamcha when she heard him groan from the ground, where he was still lying prone, holding his nose, "I think my nose is broken!"

She stared at her ex-beau, before she let out a loud, "good!" She walked close enough to him that she could yell directly at his face, "and thanks for making my decision easier you asshole!" She then turned, walking back to the house, completely amazed at what she had just seen, but unable to stop herself from letting out a giggle as she relived the moment Yamcha's feet had gone flying over his head.

A/N: Their first kiss! Ha ha, I have to admit, not the most romantic of first kisses, but I had a great time writing this scene. I'm not a Yamcha hater, but he is a great catalyst for most Bulma/Vegeta stories, especially when I can write him as a bastard. Next time, answers (I'm not kidding this time!).


	6. You Can't Handle the Truth

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing.

A/N: AAAAHH! I'm the worst. Sorry guys for not updating sooner. This past month has been insane, and that's a bit of an understatement. On top of that, I feel like my fingers can't put down what my brain wants it too…but anywhooo…I made up for it, hopefully, by making this chapter that much longer—as well as giving you some answers!

And as always, thanks to my reviewers, old and new alike, who manage to make me smile and want to keep writing, even when things are batshit crazy. Love ya!

Chapter Five: You Can't Handle the Truth

Bulma felt like her whole world was changing. She felt like she was losing a grip on her carefully constructed and blissfully happy reality. In the short span of one day she had found out that not only was her adopted brother possibly related to the most infuriating man of all time (who was threatening to take her brother away from her), but that the man she had been expecting a marriage proposal from would rather fool around in the stables with a maid than seriously consider marrying her—the woman he had told he loved!

Whatever happy future she had been envisioning with Yamcha was now gone in a puff of smoke, and the certain future she had had with Goku always by her side now seemed to be slipping away as well. Things were not going according to Bulma's plan—and Bulma rarely (if ever) did not get her own way, so she was more than a little unhinged at the moment.

So what did as she felt her whole world unraveling?

She took action.

Let no person accuse Bulma Briefs of not being a go-getter.

After discovering that her beau, Yamcha, was little more than a rotten scumbag who deserved to have his manhood removed, violently, from his body, Bulma had come back to the house and had found her father. She had told him the plan her and Goku had agreed upon the night before, no-nonsense, and straight-faced, not giving him a chance to consider saying no to it. After that, she threw herself in some work she needed to get done before putting her plan into action, and spent all of the morning in her personal lab, her father the only other human she saw for the next four hours.

Bulma did not stop during that time, as she found that whenever she slowed down, or tried to stop, she would suddenly become overwhelmingly sad at Yamcha's betrayal, or the fact that she might very well be losing her brother, her closest friend and ally, once the hermit and his sister arrived with their tale of Goku's birth. So the second a stray emotion, other than that of being industrious, entered her, Bulma would physically exorcise it, throwing herself into the most manual of tasks, shaping metal tubes, or breaking old scrap metal apart herself. It was intensely satisfying, and distracting, and Bulma spent her morning working up a good sweat, ignoring every single emotion that tried to distract her. 

Well, if she were being honest, not all emotions could be blocked out. Namely, she could not help and be stunned as she thought about how she had thrown herself at the dour Duke himself, kissing him! It had lasted all of ten seconds, and Bulma had not felt anything but his firmly closed lips on her own, or starchy fabric of his clothes…but she felt flushed whenever she thought of it. Though his lips had stayed closed, and no bare skin had touched, there had been a tremendous heat that radiated from him, consuming her, and Bulma had felt a spark of something so potent she could not help but dwell on the kiss whenever it would pop into her mind.

She almost wished that the stupid turtle hermit and his sister would arrive so that she would have something to distract her, even if they told the family exactly what they did not want to hear. But the morning wore on, the sun growing higher in the sky, and still there was no sign of them.

It was finally when Bulma was working with her father in the afternoon, going over the latest designs for some very hush-hush innovations, when a footman rushed into their lab, extremely dusty. He gave a respectful bow as he looked at the two anxious Briefs', before catching her father's eye, "sir, I've ridden ahead to let you know that the carriage with the turtle hermit and his sister should be here within the next hour."

Dr. Briefs nodded towards the man, who bowed again, and left. As soon as he was gone, Dr. Briefs turned towards Bulma, whose mouth had suddenly gone dry as she met his eyes, seeing the steely hard glint within her father's usually serene depths.

Well this was it, then, was it not? Time for the truth to come out…Bulma's stomach responded accordingly by instantly tightening itself in knots, before clenching tightly, and flipping in a circle, rather aggressively.

Her father studied her face, before he gently questioned, "now are you sure you want to follow through with your plan? You know once we set your mother loose with this idea, there will be no stopping her?"

Bulma was pulled from her anxiety, looking at her father, before nodding. She took a second to throw her shoulders back, meeting his gaze, completely sure of herself, and needing to convey that to him. He needed to believe her so that, well, she could believe herself. Bulma raised an eyebrow at her dad, going for the old Bulma flare when she spoke, "would you rather send Goku off by himself?"

Dr. Briefs smiled, glad to see his daughter not looking so…lost. "Absolutely not."

Bulma nodded, finding that old confidence of hers as she told him, "then we have to do what we have to do."

Dr. Briefs quirked his head, pausing before he continued, "and are you sure you are okay leaving Yamcha? I had thought this would be the winter he would ask me for your—"

Bulma cut him off by looking back down at the plans, hoping that her fresh hurt was not written all over her face, though she feared it would be, as she haughtily told him, "I told you, father, I'm through with that fool. I want to do this."

Dr. Briefs, being the wise old man he was, only hmm'd, but said nothing else as they went about trying to make time move quicker as they awaited the Turtle Hermit and his sister—and answers.

Not forty minutes later the whole of the Briefs family was back in the sitting room where the bombshell had been dropped yesterday, waiting for the arrival of the carriage. Tea was sitting in front of them, but the whole of the family was still, watching the door for the old man and his sister. Conversation was stilted, but Bulma's mother was nothing if not a true lady, which meant she could fill even the most awkward of silences, even if there was nothing to be said.

When the door opened, they all looked at it expectantly, until the Duke himself appeared, the whole of the room deflating with disappointment at it not being their awaited guests. Only Mrs. Briefs managed to even say anything to him, her British roots coming through, as she nodded at him, "my lord."

Vegeta nodded back to her, but remained silent as his eyes traveled straight to where Bulma and Goku sat on the couch, his eyes flashing as he saw Bulma's hand was clenched on Goku's thigh. Bulma noticed a slight clenching of his jaw, but other than that, Vegeta's face was impassive.

Vegeta entered the room fully, striding to the back corner of the room, crossing his arms as he leaned against the windowsill, watching the door, and the rest of the room at the same time. Something about him seemed to be always on alert…Bulma wondered if he could ever calm down. Even for just a few moments. Did he sleep? Was he relaxed even then? Bulma scowled as she realized she was staring at him, trying to imagine the planes and angles of Vegeta's face softening in sleep, before she turned back to her brother, smiling at him.

Bulma could feel Vegeta's eyes burning into the back of her head, but she ignored him as she forced herself to listen to what her mother and father were talking about. Not that she could follow it. With Vegeta in the room, she could faintly smell that spicy, musky scent she had caught much closer earlier today, and her mind would not concentrate on anything but what had happened earlier. She had forgotten how manly he had smelled earlier, but when he had walked past, that whiff had been enough to make her cheeks turn red, as she remembered the heat of Vegeta.

When Bulma finally felt herself under control, she calmly squeezed Goku's hand, before she stood, ignoring the curious stares of her family, as she walked over to where the Duke stood, silently observing her progress.

His eyes followed her from under half-lowered lids as she approached, but she could not read what he was thinking, the obsidian depths as bleak as a starless, moonless night. She knew that her family was watching her, but she did not care as she got close to him, and spoke softly, so no one could hear her as she told him, "thank you for your help this morning."

Vegeta's face hardened, and his eyes traveled her face, quickly, before they met her own again. She got the feeling he was looking for something hidden, behind her original meaning, and she wondered if he ever believed anything at face value. What had made him so suspicious of everything and anything—even just a simple thank you?

She was distracted from her thoughts when he responded, his voice soft and low, as he drawled out, "of course." Something about the way he spoke made a part of her lower abdomen clench, responding to the almost purr-like way he spoke to her. If she had a more fanciful imagination, Bulma would have called Vegeta's tone just then bedroom-like…but she was not, so she did not.

Instead she tried to mimic his stoicism as she spoke next, "I would appreciate it if you kept what happened between us."

She did not want her family getting wind of what Yamcha had done to her, as she was sure their response to him hurting her would be extreme, and Bulma did not want anyone but herself to hurt Yamcha. Well…that, and she did not want the whole family knowing about the fact that she had thrown herself at the Duke, even in the most chaste of kisses. It was completely unbecoming of a woman in her station.

Vegeta quirked an eyebrow at her request, but gave her a nod, and Bulma let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, relief washing over her.

Bulma waited for him to say something else as he continued to stare at her, maybe ask about the situation, but he did not, and so she only frowned, before turning back to her family (who was pretending not to be watching her and Vegeta as they spoke loudly about inane things). It was when she took a step away that he spoke again, soft enough that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as his words hit her, "you do owe me a favor now, you realize?"

Bulma froze, feeling her shoulders creep up to her ears, before she glanced back at him, her voice slightly higher as she spoke next, "a favor? What favor? I don't owe you a favor."

Vegeta's lips were pulled into that self-satisfied smirk she was really starting to dread when she looked at him, her heart dropping into her stomach as he told her, "yes, you do. I did you a favor by allowing you to use me to make that scarred idiot jealous, and now you owe me one."

Bulma turned towards him completely, wondering just how quickly he had worked out what she had been doing earlier. Not that it mattered, it was pretty obvious, and she would have been more worried if he had not figured it out. But something about seeing that smirk, and the way he had said the word 'owe,' made her feel a creeping dread down her spine, "what favor?"

As his eyes started to lower, slowly, before they centered on her lips, Bulma felt a blush come up over her chest, up her neck, staining her cheeks bright red as her eyes widened as she picked up on the very obvious signals he was throwing her way. Her whole body tightened with anticipation, and Bulma felt her heart rate quicken the longer his eyes were on her lips.

Vegeta opened his mouth to speak again, but she never got to hear what he was going to say (though she had a pretty good idea of what it would be), as it was at that moment that the sitting room door opened. Bernard barely had time to introduce the guests, "Master Roshi and his sister Baba," before the old pair had pushed past him, into the room, bickering about something frivolous, capturing everyone's attention.

"You could not keep your hands to yourself while we stopped for a drink?"

"What—my hand slipped!"

"Slipped? Slipped my ass! I just wanted to have a break from that dreadful carriage ride—but no, you have to get us kicked out of another establishment! All because you can't keep your damn hands to yourself!"

The old man, Roshi, waved his hand, "bah." Before turning towards the room, as if just realizing his sister and him had an audience, smiling to everyone who was watching them, his hands clasped behind his back, "I apologize for being so late."

The older woman, Baba, glared at her brother, still not acknowledging the rest of the room as she scolded him, "you should apologize for being so late! We would have been here earlier if Mister-has-to-stop-at-every-inn-to-look-for-pretty-girls-buts-to-squeeze hadn't been distracted by every pretty barmaid earlier. We got kicked out of every place we stopped at for lunch until we finally made him wait in the carriage."

Roshi turned back to his sister, the Briefs and Vegeta forgotten as he defended himself, "don't blame me for that! They were all lying! I didn't pinch any butts."

"Horseshit! You know you can never keep your hands to yourself…" The two went back to squabbling as if there truly was no one else in the room, their voices getting louder and louder as each successive jab hit home.

Vegeta stared at the bickering, older couple, slightly amazed, wondering just how old these two were. The man was bald with a long white beard, stooped with age, wearing darkened glasses, his wrinkles putting him at about a hundred, while his sister, who was even tinier and wearing all black with a pointy black hat, looked to be at least a hundred years older then him.

Bulma (whom seemed to be impossible not to think about anymore) was forgotten as he frowned at them—this was who he was supposed to get answers from? From their complete lack of manners, he guessed they were both beyond senile. He would rather trust the Briefs tales than anything these two had to say, especially as their uncouth yelling got louder and louder.

Kakarrot was the first one to stand, everyone but the fighting siblings looking at him as he put a large smile on his face, and came between Roshi and Baba, expertly, as if he had done this a millions times. "Master Roshi! Baba! Long time no see!"

Roshi turned towards Kakarrot, his sister forgotten, smiling at the genial man as if he had just realized he was in the room. Vegeta's eyes narrowed as he took the scene in, wondering if the old man truly had not seen Kakarrot as he spoke, "hey! Goku! How goes the fencing? The fighting? Are you still practicing?"

Kakarrot nodded, turning solemn as he gave a slight bow, "of course Master. I train with Yamcha when I'm here, then Krillin when we're back in Manhattan. I continue to use your techniques."

Vegeta stared with blatant interest as he saw Kakarrot's sign of respect to the stooped old man—this was Kakarrot's trainer? Vegeta was not surprised to find that Kakarrot was a fighter—it came from his blood, as all Vegeta's took physical fighting and training very seriously. But what could he learn from such an old stump of a man?

As if on cue, the old man started snorting, looking like a caricature as he spit out, "Krillin! How is that bald fool?"

Kakarrot smiled, "doing well. Making a name for himself in the world of pugilism."

"Good, good." Master Roshi suddenly peered around Kakarrot, looking at the rest of the room, "now where is that delicio…I mean smart sister of yours?"

Bulma frowned, moving closer to Roshi and his sister, but staying arms length away (something she had learned to do with experience) as she respectfully nodded, "hello Master Roshi, Baba. I hope the carriage ride wasn't too bad."

Roshi smiled, putting his hands behind his back as he started to rock on his heels, "of course, of course. The Briefs always take such good care of us. Now don't you have a hug for old Roshi?"

Bulma's lips flattened, and she glared at him, "not on your life old man."

Baba let out a loud hoot at that, "she's too smart for you Roshi!"

Roshi glared back at his sister, but before they could start bickering again, Goku smiled, "come on, lets get you some tea."

The older pair sat across from the Briefs parents, Roshi grabbing Mrs. Briefs' hand, lavishing attention and love on it, before Baba hit him in the back of the head with her cane. Her younger brother glared at her, but Baba's interest was elsewhere as she took in the dark figure in the corner. Something about him seemed familiar to Baba, but she could not place it as she turned back to the rest of the room, her thumb jerking over her shoulder as she spoke, "so who's Mr. Silence over there?"

Dr. Briefs smiled amiably, "Master Roshi, Baba, may I present the Duke of Vegetasei?" Vegeta nodded to the older pair, as Dr. Briefs continued, "he's actually the reason we called you here."

Roshi gave him a once over then turned away upon finding a man (and not someone who was as luscious as Bulma), but Baba studied Vegeta with interest before she observed, "the Duke of Vegetasei, you say? You're a long way from home, aren't you?"

Vegeta looked to the aged woman, his dark eyes slicing through her with a harsh stare as he answered, "yes—but I have come for a reason. I am told you are the ones who can help us by revealing more about Kakar…Goku's life before he came here."

Roshi froze, finally looking away from Bulma's chest to the Duke, his voice suddenly serious, "why do you need to know about that?"

Vegeta's frown deepened, answering the question with another question, "why don't you just tell me what you know?" Vegeta kept the _old fool_ at the end of the sentence silent, though he had a feeling Bulma had caught what he had not said by the look she shot him.

Roshi picked his tea back up, and calmly said, "he was raised by Gohan, who was his grandfather."

Vegeta let out a low growl as he bared his teeth, "that is not the truth, and you know it you old fool." He did not even try to stop himself from saying it this time, and Roshi responded by scowling at him, Goku's hands tensing as Vegeta insulted his old Master.

Bulma, sensing Vegeta's rising animosity, as well as knowing Goku's need to defend those he loved, turned towards Master Roshi and his sister, trying to stop the tensions in the room from exploding as Goku took a step towards Vegeta. "Please, can you help us?" She swept her hand to the man in the corner who seemed hell-bent on making this as hard as possible for everyone involved, "Vegeta, the Duke, came to us yesterday, telling us that Goku's real name is Kakarrot, and that he is his long lost cousin. But Goku cannot be the person Vegeta thinks he is, since Gohan was his grandfather, wasn't he?" Bulma knew her voice sounded pleading as she asked her question, but she could not help but keep the edge out of her voice. It had been a long two days.

Roshi and Baba's eyes met, her mouth slightly open, before Roshi sighed, turning towards the room as he put his tea down, his normal affable voice level and serious as he announced, "Gohan is not Goku's real grandfather."

Vegeta let out a triumphant snort, "of course he isn't." He pointedly met Bulma's eyes as he continued, "as I said he wasn't yesterday. "

Bulma felt Goku move closer to her as what Roshi said sunk in, and she wrapped her arm around his, their fingers intertwining, Vegeta's gloating ignored, the weight of Roshi's words hitting them hard. Goku sagged slightly against her, but only for a second, and she did not even groan under his weight. She did not care if Goku was this Kakarrot or not—he was her brother, and she would always be there for him.

She looked at Master Roshi, her eyes flashing as her curiosity took over for her, "what do you mean Gohan isn't Goku's grandfather? How do you know this?"

Baba answered Bulma's questions, the wizened old woman catching everyone's attention, "Gohan wrote to us, eighteen years ago now, telling us about how he had come upon a shipwreck on the beach he lived at. He said not much even washed ashore from the wreck, just some parts of the ship, and some bodies. But he said when he was checking the bodies for any survivors, he thought there weren't any…until he came upon a young woman who was cradling a young Goku to her chest. The woman was dead, but…the boy was alive. Gohan took him in, cared for him, and raised him until he died."

Roshi nodded, "he said when Goku was a toddler he was much different then he is now, always unsmiling, very serious, more prone to being violent against Gohan, even as a child…but then Goku fell one day, smashing his head against some rocks, and when he came to, he was the happy go-lucky Goku we all know today."

Bulma found herself hanging off every word the shriveled pair spoke, unable to stop gulping as she realized just what this story was revealing. She needed to be sure, though; she wanted to know beyond a doubt that Goku was this Kakarrot, and not some child from another shipwreck…though even she realized how unlikely this was. "Was there anything else? Anything that would indicate that Goku is indeed this Kakarrot the Duke is looking for?"

Baba looked at her brother, both of them silent, thinking, before Baba spoke again, "yes, Gohan wrote the name of the wrecked ship…"

Roshi nodded at his sister, before tapping a finger to his lips, thinking, "oh yeah, what was it?"

Baba squinted, as if trying to see the name, "Something something…I think. Two words, for sure."

Roshi scratched his bald head, "the Sailing something…the _Sailing Sailor_?"

Vegeta surprised everyone in the room by speaking softly from the corner he inhabited, "the _Sailing Saiyan_."

Baba's face lit up, "yes! That was it!"

Vegeta finally moved to the center of the room, staring directly at Kakarrot and Bulma as he spoke next, "that was the name of my Uncle's ship." His eyes flashed to Kakarrot, ignoring how pale and exhausted Bulma looked (though he could not stop that maddening urge he had to wipe the exhaustion from her face) as his tone took on a harsh edge, "I do not require any further proof that you are Kakarrot."

He moved closer towards Kakarrot, his eyes focused on him alone, knowing that now that he had his proof, it was time for his plan to be put into action, "I expect for us to leave in the next hour, so get your things, and say good-bye."

Vegeta started to exit, striding from the room, when he was surprised to hear Dr. Briefs speak up, "hold on a minute."

Vegeta turned, ready to fight the old man about Goku being Kakarrot, but he was surprised to see Dr. Briefs shoot Kakarrot and Bulma a look, urging one of them to speak. Vegeta was suddenly afraid that Bulma was going to open her mouth, and reveal that her and Kakarrot were engaged. Though he was all for leaving behind the blue-hared heiress behind, never seeing her again (maybe then he would stop obsessing about her), he was not ready to hear that she was going to be marrying someone—especially not his cousin.

So Vegeta braced himself for the worst, but was completely bowled over when Bulma turned not to him, but to her mother, her voice almost pleading, "mama, I want to go to England with Goku." Bulma took a step forward, smiling, "you are always saying you would take me if I wanted to go, if I wanted to have a season in England to see if I could find a husband…well I want to go."

Vegeta's mouth dropped, though his reaction was completely overshadowed by Mrs. Briefs loud squeal, as she jumped from the couch, rushing towards her daughter, grabbing both of her hands, "oh Bulma! You've always said no whenever I've offered for my brother to sponsor us in the past, and I'd given up hope! But now you're saying yes! We can get you a real English lord as a husband! I'm so happy!"

Mrs. Briefs turned to Vegeta, surprising him, "you said your ship is going to leave by tomorrow morning?" Without waiting for an answer she smiled, "well we'll be ready!"

She whirled back around to the room at large, her hands on her cheeks, "oh no! I have so much packing to do!"

She turned towards Bulma one last time, "though I suppose we should buy you a whole new wardrobe when we're there. Want to make sure you have all the latest fashions!"

While Vegeta tried to catch his breath from watching the insipid woman turn and talk, Bulma only smiled prettily, batting her eyelashes, "of course mama."

Vegeta felt himself losing grasp of the situation, and he tried to glare at the all of them, even as Mrs. Briefs rushed past him to start yelling at servants about packing. He ignored the loss of the elder Briefs woman, instead glaring at Bulma as he saw her placid smile, "now wait just a minute! I never said you could sail with me."

Vegeta was surprised to see Kakarrot turn towards him, his face grim as he looked his cousin square in the eye, "you want me to come to England, fine. You want me to become this Kakarrot person, fine. But my family, my _real_ family is coming with me." Goku paused for a second, and then his face became more intense as he commanded, "and Bulma is not going to be sponsored by the Baron, but by you."

Bulma had to stop her jaw from dropping at hearing Goku's commanding tone, especially as he added that last bit about Vegeta sponsoring Bulma's hunt for an English husband. She stared at her brother, hit with respect for him as he continued to keep a leveled gaze at Vegeta. Goku might not always seem like the worlds smartest guy, but she sometimes forgot that her brother's naivety should not be confused for stupidity.

Goku's voice was sure as it carried across the room, "you will sponsor my sister because you are a Duke, and more doors will open for Bulma if you are the one helping her enter London society, rather than a mere Baron."

Bulma looked towards Vegeta, waiting for him to flat out refuse Goku's request, but as she watched him, she saw him smirk at Goku's tone, looking at Goku with something akin to respect in his eyes. Bulma would have rolled her eyes at that (of course Vegeta would find respect for Goku when he was acting like an asshole) if she had not felt so disconcerted by the whole thing.

Vegeta looked Goku up and down, considering the younger man, before he spoke again, "and what do I get if I sponsor Bulma?"

Goku's mouth tightened, but he answered him, "I will come with you willingly, and I will take over this viscountcy, without complaint."

Vegeta was struck with how much Kakarrot looked like his father when he did not have that idiotic smirk on his face. And to see him commanding Vegeta like that…he would make a British lord of him yet. The smirk that spread across Vegeta's face at that thought was real, but he quickly hid that as he broke eye contact with Kakarrot, turning towards Dr. Briefs. "If your family comes with me, I would expect you to come to my family's factories with me to help us improve industrialization."

Dr. Briefs smiled, amiable as usual as he spoke, "I'm sure either me or Bulma could help you with that."

Vegeta frowned at hearing Bulma's name (what could a mere woman do when it came to machines?) but he only nodded, "fine. We leave in an hour," before he strode from the room, not breaking his stride as he left his unexpected traveling guests behind.

As Vegeta exited the room, though, he slowed on the steps as he heard the turtle hermit speak again, "so you're leaving America for a while, eh? How about a hug for you brother's old teacher?"

"NOT A CHANCE OLD MAN!"

Vegeta only smiled at the woman's tenacity, before he frowned as he realized why he was smiling. He might just, in the smallest of ways, have some respect for the infuriating woman.

Which was definitely not a good thing.

Vegeta was not surprised to see Nappa waiting for him in his room, and as he strode in, he spoke as he walked to his closet, "be prepared to leave in the next hour."

Nappa nodded, though he did not leave, waiting for Vegeta to change into his traveling clothes before he spoke, "I asked around the village for you, like you asked."

Vegeta looked at him as he exited his dressing room, pulling on his riding coat, "oh? Anything of interest?"

Nappa told him some of the gossip he had heard learned in the village, though there was not a lot, "…the parents are rather boring, as Dr. Briefs rarely comes to the village, and Mrs. Briefs is known as the best party giver in all of the county. Goku…" Nappa froze as he saw Vegeta's gaze, and corrected himself, "Kakarrot, I mean, is known around the parts for his fighting abilities—"

Vegeta hmmphed, "I doubt an American's fighting or fencing abilities will be anywhere near mine, or even give me a hint of a challenge."

Nappa nodded his assent, his toothy grin malicious, "of course not, milord. No American can compare with a British man, let alone you!" Vegeta smirked, but then motioned for Nappa to continue which he did, droning on, Vegeta hardly paying attention before Bulma's name caught his attention, "…the girl, Bulma, is known as something of a genius, and I have heard she intimidates the local boys with her poise and intelligence."

Vegeta scoffed, loudly, trying to reconcile what Nappa was telling him with the loudmouth obstinate woman he had met over the last day, "poise? Intelligence? If that is what is considered poised and intelligent in America, I cannot wait to be back in Britain."

Nappa chuckled at Vegeta's remarks, and then added, "she has been linked to one of the boys in the area, though, Yamaha or something like that? I think they said his face is scarred." Nappa rubbed his head, thoughtful as he tried to remember the name, before he shrugged, giving up as he continued, "well whoever he is, rumor is that they are all but engaged."

Vegeta let out a small shake of his head, hiding his smirk from his inferior as he whispered under his breath, "not anymore." He looked up at Nappa, finding his countryman staring at him. Vegeta frowned at him, and glared, "well? What else?"

Nappa shrugged, "that seems to be the gist of it."

Vegeta frowned, and almost stopped himself from asking, but found he could not, as he slowly questioned, "what about Bulma's relationship with Kakarrot? Did anyone mention anything about the two of them?"

Nappa scratched his baldhead, thinking, "not anything besides that the pair of them are known to cause trouble when they get bored. Pull pranks on people, stuff like that."

Vegeta froze, considering telling Nappa that he suspected the pair of them were lovers, but decided that that information was not relevant to the idiotic giant who followed him everywhere. Nappa had not even noticed Vegeta's, though, as he barreled on, "oh yeah—one more thing." Vegeta looked at him expectantly, and frowned when he saw Nappa was frowning, "no one would tell me who the shop keep was, or give me even any information about him."

Vegeta was caught off guard by this news, "what do you mean?"

Nappa's gulp was visible as he spoke next, "I mean that no one admitted to knowing anyone who fit that description, saying that the person who runs the Capsule Corporation store in the village is an old man, not a young one, who has no children. Either they knew who I was asking about and were protecting him, or no such person exists…"

Vegeta studied Nappa, before waving his hands, dismissing the shop keep from his mind as he spoke, "well we can worry about that some other time. We have to get to New York before the Briefs' do…and alert the Captain that we have to make room for some more guests."

Nappa was nodding when he froze, looking at Vegeta, eyes wide with disbelief, "do you mean Kakarrot is coming with us?"

Vegeta smirked, "yes, Kakarrot is coming with us." His smirk turned sour as he continued though, "as well as his sister, and his mother, and his father. I should consider myself lucky that the rest of the servants aren't coming as well."

Nappa's mouth was open, "the whole damn family is coming?"

Vegeta only nodded, and Nappa chuckled, "well this should make for an interesting journey." Nappa paused before he added, almost thoughtfully, "I've heard that the daughter is quite beautiful."

Vegeta pursed his lips, "I suppose she could be called beautiful in a sort of coarse, uncultured way."

Nappa's smirk turned lecherous, "don't care about that stuff. If she's as pretty as the rumors state, I wouldn't mind bedding the filly during the journey then…would keep things interesting on the ship."

Vegeta did not speak at first, as he was trying to restrain himself from jumping across the table and strangling Nappa, beating him for even thinking he could touch Bulma. When Vegeta finally felt himself gain a modicum of control, he spoke, "and do you think an heiress would go for a man like you, who has no money?"

Nappa grinned, not noticing Vegeta's very obvious anger, as he rubbed his hands together, "word is, the man she was connected with doesn't come from money…and you know what they say about American girls having no morals. She should be pretty easy to bed."

Nappa completely missed out on Vegeta's clenched fist and jaw, but the icy tone was hard to miss as Vegeta ground out, "you will not touch the girl."

Nappa's mouth dropped as he saw Vegeta's death glare (that was currently aimed at himself), and he confusedly asked, "milord?"

Vegeta straightened, his eyes hard as chips of granite as he spoke, "I do not want to upset Kakarrot, and he seems to have an attachment to this girl."

Nappa looked like he was going to say something, but then he thought better of it as he caught Vegeta's expression. Nappa stood, realizing it was time for him to beat a hasty retreat, before Vegeta decided to take out some of his anger on Nappa. "I'll go make sure we are going to be ready to leave within the hour, sir." Nappa then left the room as quickly as possible, knowing that when Vegeta was truly angry, it was best not to even think about crossing his path.

Vegeta watched Nappa go, silent, before he turned to the window, seeing that Mrs. Briefs was directing trunks onto a carriage, and he frowned as he realized the reality in front of him. Yes, he had gotten what he had wanted from America, he was coming back with his cousin…but at what cost? He was now facing a month long journey on his ship with a woman who tempted him beyond anything he would care to admit.

Vegeta only sighed at that thought, then steeled himself. Vegeta had long been in control of his emotions, and it would take more than a blue-hared witch, and a month long journey on an enclosed ship to tempt him.

No matter what every cell in his body was screaming out at him to do to that blue-hared witch and her oh-so tempting curves…

A/N: So not the biggest of surprises (you mean Goku really is a Saiyan?), but hopefully I managed to answer some questions. I guess this could be considered the end of part 1 (America), and now onto England! I could not not have them all go there, what with the ideas of balls, and lords and ladies, and intrigue…

But I'm getting ahead of myself—next up, the trip across the sea. Bulma, Vegeta, on a boat…enclosed spaces lead to some of the best meeting's, don't they?


	7. Dangerous Waters

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing. Some adult themes

A/N: Big love to my reviewers—seriously, I'm like Tinkerbelle—your clapping powers me!

Chapter Six: Dangerous Waters

Vegeta stood at the helm of the _Saiyan Lady_, his hands behind his back, his legs far enough apart to balance on the swaying deck, instinct and long-ago learned skills making him as comfortable on the choppiest of waves as most people were on land. They were halfway between America and Britain, and though he had been through some horrific storms on this route in the past, right now the waves were perfectly tame.

The trip had been uneventful so far—there had been no storms, no squalls, there had been no brushes with pirates (though Vegeta had been hoping for a run in with some pirates, as they always proved amusing and a good workout), and the waves had been mild enough to slow their progress simply because no gusts of wind were moving them along swiftly.

For Vegeta's unexpected (and uninvited) guests on the _Saiyan Lady_, they should consider themselves lucky that as inexperienced seamen (and women) that the waves were as calm as they were. Kakarrot thrived on the ship, finding joy in even the most manual of labor, working as hard as the saltiest of sea-men Vegeta commanded, while his bald midget friend (Vegeta did not find it worth his time to remember the small man's name, especially as he had come along as Kakarrot's valet, though Vegeta could not understand why Kakarrot would pick an American as his valet…) worked just as hard as Kakarrot did, the two of them idiotically smiling at all times, or foolishly challenging each other at idiotic tasks.

Their good nature was so infectious, even Vegeta's hardest crew men warmed up to the pair, which Vegeta had to admit, he found deeply, deeply disturbing. He liked his crew to be as unemotional as he was, and finding them happily grinning from time to time, was unnerving. But there good-natured smiles would be gone just as soon as Kakarrot and that fool were off the ship, so he bore through it, especially since the men seemed to be working faster than they usually did.

As for the elder Briefs'—there sea legs had come just as quickly as Kakarrot and the midget's. Dr. Briefs was constantly interviewing his men, making notes, constructing things, that just made living on a ship _easier_. Mrs. Briefs, he had heard, was hard at work on teaching the chef how to properly cook, something him, and his entire crew, thanked her profoundly for. This was all conjecture though, as Vegeta had not seen Mrs. Briefs or Bulma above deck since the journey had begun, mainly because he had strictly forbidden them to come above deck.

He did not _not_ trust his men, but he definitely did not trust his men's hormones around women. Especially around someone like Bulma, who acted as bawdy as a tavern wench, and was as beautiful as the licentious actresses of the stage these men were used to bedding. If she tempted him, making him lose his head around her, he could imagine what she would do to these lesser men. Mrs. Briefs, on the other hand, while still a beauty, had proven herself to be quite susceptible around 'handsome' men as she called any male under the age of thirty, and he was more afraid of what she would do to Vegeta's men, if he let her loose around them.

Vegeta shuddered, unintentionally, as he imagined her getting her clutches on his men…no, it was better she remain below deck, where she kept whipping out amazing concoctions that left everyone happy.

That left only the blue-hared heiress who he could not quite seem to banish from his dreams. Thankfully, he had only seen her in his dreams lately, and it was not just due to the fact that he had forbidden her from showing her face above deck. From what he had heard (or made sure to hear, as he had set Nappa to spying on everything the Briefs' said or did) the moment they had hit open seas, Bulma had been bed-stricken, sick— whining, and cranky from being unable to do anything but moan and groan.

Vegeta was man enough to admit that he found extreme pleasure in finding the heiress felled by Mother Nature. Even a tenacious woman such as Bulma had weaknesses, it seemed, and he could not exactly explain why he found such pleasure in that. But something about imagining her so out of sorts, not completely in control of the situation…he could not help the errant chuckle that escaped as he imagined how pitiful she must look and feel.

Of course, since Vegeta was long used to the sea, mainly thanks to his tenure in the British Navy, he had some tried and tested tricks and tips that would probably help abate the woman's sickness…but he did not offer a one to the witch.

If he was going to be forced to deal with her in London, he was going to take advantage of not having her around him for now. He could not escape her in his dreams, but he could, and would, not let her intrude upon his everyday life for as long as he could. He did not like how he felt around her, and so he did what any sane person would do when confronted with new and strange feelings—he avoided them (and her) completely.

Though, he thought, as he watched his men scramble around deck, he would give anything to be able to see what Bulma looked like when she was not completely composed…

* * *

><p>Bulma was in abject and utter misery.<p>

No, sorry.

That was in a bit of an understatement.

Bulma was in the worst pain in her life, no, scratch that, anyone's life.

Stupid, stupid sea travel.

Ever since they had hit the high seas, she had been in her bed, the contents of her stomach constantly rising and swelling with the tides of the ocean. It seemed Bulma was not made for long travel at sea, which utterly disheartened her, since she had always believed she would travel the world one day. Well, not by sea, it seemed.

Her whole body was covered in a clammy sweat, and as her stomach gave a particular lurch, she moaned, and then turned in her bed, thunking her head against the wall, which caused her to moan louder. Stupid, stupid Vegeta. This was all his fault.

Being on this ship, being in this tiny room, being seasick.

It was that impertinent little man's entire fault!

First off, he was the reason they were now traveling to England by fricking sea, and second off, it was all his fault that she was not luxuriating in the largest quarters on the ship that were on deck…which she was convinced would help her rollicking stomach. Being in this tiny room, under the deck, on a ship that seemed to be constantly tilting and rolling was making it impossible for her to do anything but lay in bed all day, alternating between being just well enough to work on some designs of hers, to holding her stomach, wishing she would die. She should have the largest cabin, not him!

He had tricked her!

When they had first gotten to the ship, Vegeta had greeted them by laying down a long list of rules that had culminated with him staring pointedly at Bulma and her mother, "and you two are not allowed on deck, or out of your rooms."

Bulma started, finally paying attention to Vegeta's very long list of rules and stipulations, after having zoned him out for most of the day, "what? Why not?"

Vegeta frowned at her, before he spoke plainly, "because when you have a ship full of men, who happen to be more unmannered and uneducated then even you Americans, that are not used to having women on board, when they find out that they do they will most likely take it upon themselves to do something…" his frown deepened, as he paused, searching for an appropriate enough word to mention in front of women, before he flicked his eyes back to her, "untoward to you. So don't come out, because even your mere presence will tempt them."

Krillin, who her brother had insisted on bringing, despite Bulma's very boisterous opinion for him not to, had put his hand behind his head and smiled, "well that makes sense. Especially if they see someone as pretty as you Bulma!"

He had looked at her, all smiles, and Bulma had rolled her eyes, having been aware of Krillin's long-standing crush on her. If it could really be called that. Krillin seemed to have a crush on any female, as she knew it was his life long dream to find a woman to marry. But she did not have time to deal with the midgets delusions of her being that woman right now, so she had scoffed at him, ignoring his smile, before turning back to Vegeta, "I don't buy it. Can't you or the captain command them not to touch us?"

Vegeta had stared at her coldly, his black eyes glinting as he practically growled at her, "these men will be on a ship with nothing but other men for at least a month, working, sweating, full of testosterone. If they are tempted in the least bit, which they will be if they see any female, they will not be swayed from touching you because of a few simple orders."

Bulma's mouth had flattened in distaste, her voice coming out sardonic, "well I guess I should be thanking you for trying to protect our virtue then?"

Vegeta's eyes flashed as his mouth hardened, as he let out a scoff, "I am less concerned about your…_virtue_," the way the word had dropped from his lips had implied that he did not believe that Bulma had any, and her lips tightened, "as I am about losing any of my men, who I will have to whip if they disrespect me." His jaw tightened, and Bulma could practically hear his teeth grinding, which she had to admit she found some pleasure in (knowing she could rile him up so), "so let's make this easy for everyone involved. Stay below deck."

Bulma, beyond aggravated, had put her hands on her hips, "well if I am to be a prisoner in my room, I want the biggest room."

Vegeta's lip had turned down at her, frowning, his response instantaneous, "no."

Bulma had frowned right back, "what do you mean no? You tell me I cannot go above deck, and that I am not to leave my room? Fine. But I want a room worth staying in. I will take the captain's quarters."

Vegeta had started to argue with her, "you do not get to tell me what to—," before he cut himself off, stopping as her words registered. He only smirked at her, "the captains quarters? Hmm…yes. For a woman such as yourself…it seems appropriate."

Bulma had been prepared to argue, but at seeing his easy acquiescence, she had stared at him suspiciously, before she nodded, "yes, a _lady_ such as myself should have the captains quarters. Definitely not less…"

Bulma had walked away from Vegeta, smug, satisfied she had won that argument, until a few minutes after that conversation, when she had been led away from the large room above deck that she knew was the captains quarters, and to a small room below deck. She had been flabbergasted, and it was not until later that she found out from Goku that Vegeta himself took the biggest room not the captain. So Vegeta had not been lying to her when he had said that she would get the captains quarters.

Bulma had been furious enough to go out and confront Vegeta, but they had soon gotten their journey underway, and it had taken Bulma three days to even move a finger after the nausea had completely debilitated her. She had given up completely on confronting Vegeta, especially as she had a sneaking suspicion that if she tried to leave her room, she would find herself more likely to puke on his shoes than to actually argue with him. Not the most effective of ways to get her point across, and if she did not find herself caring (minusculy) about what Vegeta thought about her, she might have puked on his shoes, just to see his face.

But rather than follow through on that daydream, she had been forced to stay in bed, wishing her life would just end. Well, not her life as much as this insufferable journey. On top of the nausea, she was just so friggin' bored.

Her mother and father came to visit her sporadically, her father and her going over plans she was working on, though her father spent more time going around the ship, making improvements, or talking to the sailors. Though her father was known for his mechanical and industrialization genius, he had a secret passion for naturalization. Though Bulma kept trying to talk to him about her ideas of how to make cross-Atlantic travel quicker, he kept showing her drawings he had been doing of birds and fish's he had seen, as well as the animals the sailors described to him from far away lands. Aggravating to say the least.

Her mother, on the other hand, she saw even less. While sick, Bulma could only stomach her mother for so long, and Mrs. Briefs would completely space out if Bulma tried to bounce her ideas off of her, instead chattering about things that she had already told Bulma about once, or twice, or a hundred thousand times, it felt like. Not only that, but her mother was just so damn chipper, and not sick, Bulma had to admit she was jealous that her ditzy mother was not affected by the long sea travel. After a few days, Bulma would feign a great bout of sickness, or sleepiness, whenever her mother would knock on her door, since she could not take hearing the same damn stories for the fiftieth time, and Bunny had eventually just stop coming around.

Krillin, thankfully, was not allowed to visit her, since she was an unmarried lady, and he was an unmarried gentleman. Sometimes societies strict rues would work in her favor, it seemed. She could just imagine having to listen to his nervous chatter whenever he was in the same room with her, and her stomach would heave again. She could only take his idiotic laughter for so long.

Goku was her only daily visitor, and even he only came after the sun went down. He was adapting quite well to life at sea, and found himself taking to the role of sailor like a fish to water. He would tell her about the duties he performed (though it sounded like nothing but back breaking manual labor to Bulma), the competition's he won against Krillin (boys!), and, as he gained the confidence of the crew, would tell her things he had discovered about Vegeta or the family Goku had suddenly become part of.

Seemed as if the reason Vegeta occupied the biggest room on the ship was because he was truly the captain, even if another man had the _official_ title of captain. Apparently, when Vegeta had been younger, he had left home and joined the navy against his father's wishes for a few years. He had quickly risen through the ranks, under an assumed name, and it was not until his father had gotten gravely ill that Vegeta had even returned home, never quite leaving his life at sea behind.

Goku had told her all of this with respect in his voice, but Bulma had not been impressed. Mainly because she had been in so much pain that the information had barely registered, and she currently hated Vegeta more than she thought possible. It was all his stupid, stupid fault.

But now, when the journey was more than halfway over, Bulma found that she had begun to feel a little more like a human being. She would not say she had gotten her sea legs, but she could actually leave her tiny bed, and work at the small desk provided to her. Ever since she could actually move, Bulma had been working on plans to improve sea travel. She did not want to never want to travel by sea again, and she figured one way to make it easier was to find a way to speed the whole process up while making it smoother.

The only problem was to really do this, to really take the old mode of sea travel and improve upon it, would be to go above deck to take a closer look at the ship. She had asked for Goku and her father to describe the ship to her, but their descriptions were not enough, and asking for blueprints had proved futile. She needed to see the ship for herself, the masts, the sails, the wheel—everything. She could not improve on a ship she could not even describe.

So she began to question Goku and she discovered the best time to explore below decks was when the crew was working during the day, and to explore topside, her best chance would be at night, when there was a skeleton crew. Her only hope would be to go above deck on a dark night, disguised as a boy, and hope that no one would even look at her.

It was a foolhardy plan, she knew…but truth be told, now that she was feeling better, she was feeling more than a little restless. Her tiny porthole gave her absolutely no view, rather than endless blue, and far off sky, and the walls of her room were starting to close in on her. Bulma was not made for confined spaces, dammit.

Bulma considered telling Goku of her plan to go above deck, having him (and that no-nosed freak) be her bodyguard of sorts, but when she had hinted at wanting to go above decks, her brother had grown strongly adamant in the futility of that. "No Bulma, those men—they are not gentlemen, and if they see a woman like you I would not trust them to keep their hands to themselves."

"What if you protected me—,"

Goku's features had grown stern, shocking Bulma as his voice had risen, "NO!" He waited a moment before he spoke again, the creases between his eyebrows easing as he explained, his features turning more concerned, "Bulma—I may be strong, but I can not keep off a whole ship of men."

Bulma had rubbed his shoulders, knowing that it was one of the only ways to get her brother to calm down, "okay, okay. Don't worry about it…you know I'm too sick to actually go anywhere." He had looked mistrustful at first, but at that, he had nodded, satisfied that his foolhardy sister would not attempt anything. Sometimes Goku's trusting nature worked too much in her favor.

So Bulma's plans went forward without Goku. Thankfully, she had thought to pack the disguise she wore sometimes when she went into town as a man, and she waited for the new moon to appear in the beginning of her third week on ship, to put her plan into motion. She waited until it was very late in the night, her ears perked to make sure she could not hear people scrambling about. When she knew it was incredibly late, the sky an inky black, and she could hear not rustling or footsteps in the hallway, Bulma figured now would be the best time to go, and she resolved herself to her plan.

She changed her clothes, washing herself with plain water rather then her usual scented waters (wishing she had planned ahead to steal a mans scent), but hit a small snag when found she did not have her usual cap. She frowned, but had to content herself to doing her hair in a tight bun, then covering it with a dark handkerchief. She also found that she did not have her usual under wrap, and so her breasts could not be bound and hidden as they usually were, but she reasoned it would be dark, and no one would notice her all black clad figure as she stole on deck.

As she readied herself, she went over her plan in her mind, keeping herself focused. Her plan was to go above deck, hide somewhere, wait until her eyes adjusted, take a sketch of the ship, then come back down here before anyone discovered her. It was flawless…well maybe not, but still, it was as close to flawless as a plan as stupid as this could be (yes, even Bulma realized what she was doing was stupid, but…she could not take another second in this room).

Bulma carefully opened her door when she was ready, and stuck her head out. There was a lantern that dimly lit the hallway, and she strained her eyes, looking both ways, making sure that not even a shadow moved. The hallway was empty—no one was up down here but her. She waited until she could make sure she could hear no one, and then crept out of her room. She closed her door softly, and for the first time since she had first come to her room, Bulma made her way up the stairs to the deck, keeping to the far side of the stairs, and peeping up carefully as she came to deck level.

As she traveled up the stairs, the fresh sea air hit her, and Bulma took a big whiff, the fresh air doing wonders to her and her nerve, re-nerving her, while calming her rollicking stomach. She took a few moments to breathe deep, and then she peaked her head above decks, trying to see what was up there. On careful inspection, she found that no one was in her direct line of sight and that there was a large box pushed against the rails she could crouch behind as she waited for her eyesight to adjust.

There were a few lanterns, but not much light, and she could not see any person on the deck, though she could not see above and behind her to where the wheel was. She hoped if she stayed low and darted, who ever was steering would miss her completely. She was also aware that there was probably someone in the crow's nest, but they were supposed to be watching far away, not the deck of the ship, and she had to depend upon that. Or depend upon the fact that anyone who saw her would just assume she was one of the sailors, unable to sleep.

So she held her breath, said a prayer, and then scurried across to the rails. As soon as she got to the box, she darted behind it, and closed her eyes, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps coming towards her, or someone calling out to her—but nothing.

Unbeknownst to Bulma, the man currently standing at the wheel had the eyes of a hawk, and had noticed the dark figure the second Bulma's head had popped above deck. He had originally dismissed her as simply one of the sailors—but something about her movements had caught his attention. They were too lithe, not bulky enough to be a sailor, and the way they darted across deck had caught his attention. He decided to slip closer, to see who was sneaking around above deck at this hour….

Back behind the box, Bulma peeked her head back up, willing herself to stand as if she belonged there, and was just idling away time above deck, not hiding, nope, not at all. She did not have to wait long until her eyesight grew used to the dim lighting, and when it did, she looked around. The deck appeared to be completely empty, but she did not waste time looking for other people, instead pulling out the paper and charcoal she had brought with her to sketch.

She quickly began to take notes, sketching, losing herself as she began to take in everything. Bulma's heartbeat raced as she noticed things she could change things, ways to make things better. She did not know how long she spent sketching, but as she finally stopped, getting enough, she realized that she felt better than she had in weeks. Bulma smiled, folding the paper, putting it away, so she could relish the fresh, salty air, the coolness of it making her feel slightly chilled and damp.

Bulma quickly looked around her to make sure no one else had come out on deck, and that she was still hidden from whoever was at the wheel, before turning towards the railing, taking a few deep breaths, her eyes closing in pleasure. As the fresh sea air filled her lungs (rather then the somewhat stale air of her room), her stomach seemed to finally settle, and Bulma let out a contented sigh.

As she opened her eyes, Bulma was suddenly struck with the beauty in the sight in front of her. It was dark, extremely dark, but her eyes were adjusted enough that she could make out where the waves were, and where the horizon was. The moon was still new, so all of the stars in the sky shone brightly down, and as Bulma looked up at them, she found the astrologist in her mesmerized as she began to see constellations she had only heard of before.

She pulled out the charcoal and paper again, turning it over, and began to sketch out the ones she could remember, oblivious as she leaned over the rail, lost in the beauty of the night. If she could somehow find away to stay above deck, Bulma reasoned, then she would not mind sea travel. She felt better then she had in weeks, and her natural curiosity was making everything exciting and new to her. Even the very stars she had spent many a night studying.

Bulma was just sketching out where she had found Ursa Major (noting it was early, considering it was not usually seen until April) when she became caged against the railing, the breath being knocked from her as her stomach was pressed against the hard wood of the banister. Two arms appeared on either side of her, a hot wall of human flesh pressing, as a strong male chest pushed to her back, capturing her against the railing. Bulma's skin froze, her heartbeat quickening, her breath freezing as a husky voice spoke closer to her left ear, "I told you not to come above deck, Woman."

His voice was soft, low, but Bulma instantly recognized it as Vegeta's, the heat of his words causing the sensitive hair on the back of her exposed neck to stand on end, the recognition of the person behind her transforming her terror into something else completely—something dark, dangerous, and alluring. Bulma, forcing herself to hear his words, and ignore her body's odd instincts to push back into his own, kept her face forward, refusing to look at him, as she answered, "there is no one out here, and I needed to see the ship."

A scoff, the skin behind her left ear, where he was pressing closer to, heated up, and Bulma had to keep her hands around the charcoal and paper, rather than pressing against that suddenly uncomfortable spot. When he spoke next, his voice was low, "there is a man in the crows nest above us."

She kept her voice strong, even as she felt her body began to melt, heating up, "like I said, there is no one out here. The man in the crows nest is not watching the deck, not some sailor coming up for a breath of fresh air."

A moment of silence, a sigh of air that brushed past her cheek, heating it, before his voice rolled over her again, "you are tempting fate, Woman. You are not safe up here, and if you were found by any of my men they would not stop themselves from ravishing you, right here, on this spot."

Bulma's cheeks flamed as she imagined Vegeta doing the ravishing, her bones turning to jelly, but she still kept her voice steady, "well I won't be, since you are here—to protect me."

A deep inhale of breath, and she could feel his nose press into the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her, his next words spoken an octave lower, causing a heated chill to race down her spine, "who says I will protect you? I could ravish you…"

Bulma instantly stiffened as his words sunk in, and she pushed against him, turning, keeping her eyes on his as she took him in as he refused to move from caging her in, staring down at her as his arms held her locked against the rail. He was different in the nighttime. He was…more in his element.

His face was barely lit, shadows, planes and angles, as his dark, unfathomable, eyes looked down at her, his lips pulled into a sneer. She noticed he was wearing tight, dark breeches, and a loose white shirt, the only article of clothing she had seen him in that was not black, that was open slightly at the V of the chest. The gap revealed to her a bronzed, muscular chest that contrasted sharply with the white of the shirt, and did strange things to her insides as she imagined what that skin would feel like, taste like. She gulped, taking a deep breath, his familiar musky scent confusing her already heightened senses, causing her to begin to shake slightly.

Right now, Vegeta could be described perfectly in one word—dangerous. He just seemed full of secrets and untold things, and he frightened her in many different ways—not all of them scary. When she spoke next, her voice was unfamiliar, even to herself, dark as the mood between them had become, "you wouldn't—you are a gentleman."

The corner of his mouth turned up, a smirk that caused her heart to begin to race, the blood beginning to pulse through her body, "ah yes, I am. But you, Woman, are no lady."

Bulma gasped, affronted at his words, and she tried to keep her voice icy, even as she felt a melting heat began to spread between her legs, "how dare you. Let me pass, I am going back to my room."

Vegeta's gaze lingered on her, his dark eyes hiding many secrets that Bulma yearned to know, his dark voice melting her insides, even as he softly whispered, "no. It is too late for that."

Bulma's body began to hum, and she suddenly knew what the fox felt like when the hounds bore down upon it, especially as she caught an animalistic gleam in Vegeta's eyes. Her heart was racing, her skin felt too tight, and her breath quickened, but she still forced her chin up, looking him directly in the eye, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice when she answered him, "no? What do you mean no?"

Vegeta's smirk grew, showing her some of his white teeth, standing out, sharp, against the tan of his skin, darkened by the shadows of the night, "I gave you a direct order, Woman, and you disobeyed me. When I am disobeyed on my own ship, there is always punishment."

Bulma felt her mouth go completely dry, and she took a deep gulp as her voice came out as a whisper, "punishment?"

Vegeta nodded, putting his face next to her ear as he told her, "punishment."

As he spoke softly, she felt the warmth of his breath whisper past her ear, the heat of having him so close, bathing her completely as she lost control of all of her senses, of her very body. Vegeta did strange things to her, no matter how desperately she wished he did not. But Bulma showed none of this, and instead forced herself to draw back as much as she could, even as the wood of the ship bit into her back, and turned her head to look at him, "what punishment?"

Vegeta softly drew back, considering her, taking in her large eyes, the way her lips were parted—as he thought about how to torture her. After he had snuck down to take in the dark figure he had seen from the wheel, he had been extremely displeased to recognize the form as soon as it stood up—even in men's clothes, Bulma's curves were obvious. Even more obvious, as he saw the clothes hug the swell of her breasts and hips, her tiny waist a perfect contrast to her more feminine curves. But he had been most distracted, not by her womanly curves, but by her features as she turned away from the ship, and to the night sky, sketching that instead.

He had been mesmerized by her delicate features, highlighted in the shining starlight, her pale skin practically glowing, everything about her delicate, feminine, and oh-so-tempting. He only wished her hair was visible, to see it shimmering in the starlight. He had then shaken his head, wondering when he had turned into a fanciful pup. He had decided then and there to call upon the widow when he was back in London. Even seeing this woman, in men's clothing, was making him unbearably hard. He needed to bed a woman, and he needed to bed a woman now.

Just not this woman.

But still, she had disobeyed him, and he wanted to teach her a lesson. So he had decided to scare her, nothing too frightening—just something to shock her. He had not planed on caging her in, just spooking her, but then he had gotten close to her, and Vegeta's body had taken over his mind. He just wanted to be close to her heat, to smell the fresh scent of her, to touch that soft hair…to touch her. He would not give into those baser instincts, but he could not stop himself from getting as close to her as possible, to lean into her inviting warmth, to smell her without the fragrances she usually wore. Even with no scents, she smelled of lilacs, and sunshine—and was the most tempting aroma he had ever come across.

As soon as she realized who he was, he should have let her go…but some devilish imp in him would not let him move away from her. Would not stop him from getting closer, would not stop him from whispering things in her ear. If she was any other woman, he would already have seduced her, taken her back to his chambers, where they would have a modicum of privacy, and delighted in showing her how a gentleman could make her scream louder than any pup she had been with before. As it was, he could barely control his erection, and it took everything in him not to press it into her soft flesh, so she could feel what she did to him.

Instead Vegeta stared at her blue eyes, taking in the way she softly panted, her eyes wide, her pupils dilated, her cheeks red. She might not know it, but Bulma looked exactly like a woman was begging to be kissed. Vegeta smiled at that thought—who was he to not give the woman what she so clearly wanted?

He wanted to know what it was like to kiss her when she wanted to kiss him, not when she was using him to make some boy jealous. He wanted to hear her moan and groan, he wanted to kiss her so hard, her eyes closed. His voice was gravelly when he spoke next, his self-control almost completely gone, "this punishment, Woman." Vegeta quickly dipped his head, closing the few inches that separated their lips, ready to feel the silky heat of her mouth, to finally taste her, to know how she kissed.

Their lips touched, locking together, the heat of their mouths melting them together instantly, his tongue deep inside the inner cavern of her mouth before he could stop himself. Vegeta let out a loud groan as he lost all control of himself in that moment of having their lips fuse, inhaling her, tasting her, wanting nothing more than to know every twist and curve of her and her mouth. Her lips were soft, so soft, and he wanted to do nothing more than nibble and suck at them as he moved his lips against hers.

His arms went from caging her in to wrapping around her body, pulling her against his own, another groan escaping as he felt the softness of her breasts, her thighs, press against his hard body. He could only imagine what it would feel like when they could do this somewhere more private, and she would open those tempting thighs to allow him to sink into her softness completely. Vegeta knew his body very well, but even he was surprised as he felt his already hard cock, strengthen, swelling, wanting to do nothing but to nestle in the heat between her legs.

"Duke!"

Vegeta instantly froze, his eyes popping open, cursing, as he was pulled from the kiss that had not even had the chance to begin, their lips only pressed together for ten seconds, though it had felt like eternities. Vegeta quickly unwound his arms from Bulma's waist, took a step away from her, and turned, shielding her from the other man on deck. Vegeta composed himself as he turned towards the other man, who was (thankfully) a respectful distance away. Vegeta quickly searched the man's face to see if he had seen anything out of the ordinary, but the man's face was impassive, and Vegeta relaxed the tiniest bit.

Vegeta knew that it was dark enough out that if the man had just come from under deck, his eyes might not be adjusted, and so he could have seen nothing but Vegeta's back, leaned over something. Bulma's arms had remained at her sides, clutching her charcoal and paper, and, if his body was positioned right (which it was), than the man had seen nothing. Still, he made sure his voice was even as he responded, "yes, sailor?"

"Reporting for relief, sir."

Vegeta felt a muscle in his jaw tick, cursing the normal state of things and how the ship ran smoothly like clockwork. The first mate was here to relieve him from duty, just like he was most nights, and instead of being relieved at finding he could go to sleep Vegeta was ready to punch this man in the face for his timing. If he had only had been a few minutes later…but no, now was not the time to think of that, "aye, aye sailor. Take the wheel."

Vegeta waited until the man's back was turned as he walked up the steps, before he quickly tucked Bulma to his side, and hurried her under deck. He did not stop as she stumbled on the steps, and instead supported her, basically carrying her, until he got her to her room. Vegeta opened the door, pushed her inside, but kept himself in the hallway, as she turned to look at him.

She still stared at him with wide, open eyes, having not made even a single sound since he had pressed his lips against hers. Vegeta only frowned at her as she continued to stare at him, trembling, before he growled at her, "do not come above deck again, or I will not be responsible for my actions." She still only stared at him, still in shock, and so he growled louder, "do I make myself clear?"

Bulma only nodded once at him, quickly, her trembling stopping as she turned her chin up, her old verve returning to her as she glared at him, gave him the finger, then slammed the door in his face, the resounding thud sounding extremely loud down the silent hallway. As he stared at the door in shock (would that creature ever not surprise him?), Vegeta's thoughts raged as out of control as his libido had been in those few insane moments he had let that Woman work her spell on him.

Clearly he should be thanking Kami that there had been an interruption before he had given into his baser instincts with the kiss, furthering it, deepening it, taking her back to his room, since the Woman was unsuitable for him in every way—and deranged, it seemed. But rather, Vegeta was struck with the strange desire to punch a hole through something—hard.

* * *

><p>Pyotr Illyanevich had worked for the Russian Monarchy since the moment he had been born in the servants quarters thirty-six years ago, and knew the palace like the back of his hand. Still, even in the excellent shape he found himself in, as Pyotr ran the long length of the cold servant's hallways, dressed in full livery (like his monarch always decried), he found himself out of breath. But he did not slow himself, and instead quickened his pace, knowing the legendary temper of the Tsesarevich when he was not answered right away.<p>

Pyotr ran, cursing his timing, knowing he should not have tried to take a food break, though he had not eaten since the early morning hours, and the sun was sinking low in the sky. He had let his stomach convince him he would be fine in leaving his normal post, and now look where that had gotten him—running through the halls of the palace, hoping he would make it to the grand ballroom the Tsesarevich often occupied.

Unlike his brother, Tsarevich, or even the Emperor himself, the heir to the Tsar-ship did not surround himself with opulence in music, food, people, or art during his tenure in the Moscow Palace, and instead kept himself surrounded only by his most trusted of advisors, and strategic charts of the world, with models of armies all over them, different colors demarking different countries.

Pyotr slowed himself as he got to the doors of this austere room, and checked his appearance, knowing that if he showed the smallest sign of not being at decorum, he would earn himself a beating. As he entered, he kept his eyes low, his head bowed, "you called, your Tsesarevich?"

The chillingly soft and high-pitched voice of the next ruler of Russia came over Pyotr, chilling him to the bone, though he did not even flinch (anymore), "yes, I require you to send an immediate post to France, telling Agent Zhelonie that his services are immediately required in England."

Pyotr nodded, and the Tsesarevich added, "please inform him to ready the country for my arrival as that fool they call a King—well his time is up."

Pyotr kept his head low as he waited for more, but as nothing was forthcoming, he gave a nod, indicating he had heard, and he saw from the corner of his eye, the Tsesarevich give a flick of his wrist, indicating he was done with Pyotr. Pyotr, turning as he stood, let out a breath of relief at not being chastised (or worst), when that chilling voice came over him again, "and Pyotr?"

Pyotr froze to the spot, the silence lengthening, until he finally turned back to his monarch, feeling his insides freeze as he took in the familiar countenance of the man he had served since birth, as his eyes bore into Pyotr's. Though he was small in stature, barely coming to Pyotr's chin, it would be foolish of someone to mistake his diminutive stature for weakness. His white skin was deeply offset by his ruby red, almost purple lips, but it was his eyes, little pinpoints of black that stared at him, that seemed to be completely soulless, that made the Tsesarevich so completely frightening. "Yes, Lord Frieza?"

Frieza's lips upturned into a chilling smile, as his inferior cowered before him, "I do not appreciate having to wait exactly two minutes since I rang for you, when I have made it abundantly clear that when I need you, I want you here immediately." Pyotr gave a nod, turning his eyes down as he waited for Frieza to declare what his punishment would be, "no rations for the next three days, Pyotr."

Pyotr gave a nod, and then left the room, running just as quickly as he had entered it, thanking his lucky stars that his punishment was only not to eat. He had had many a bone broken under the orders of Frieza, and going without food almost seemed like a blessing.

Back in the war room, one of Frieza's advisors, a pink blob of a man, chuckled, "you are getting soft in your old age Frieza. Letting the man go with only no food. Tsk, tsk."

Frieza's face remained impassive, as he kept his eyes on the map in front of him, moving a miniature of himself closer to England, the British Empire beckoning him like a jewel to a thief, "perhaps you are correct Dodoria. But I think Pyotr will reconsider ever being late for me again when he goes home tonight to find his oldest son dead."

The only answer was the sound of mirthless, bone-chilling laughter, all from the Tsesarevich himself.

A/N: Is it bad form for an author to say they like a particular chapter of a story they are writing? Because I think I like this chapter, very much, what with the sizzling sexual tension between Bulma and Vegeta, imagining Vegeta as a sexy old-timey sailor, and the introduction of Frieza to the plot—anyhoo…on to England!


	8. Fool

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing (…as usual. I'm sorry—I just like to swear)

A/N: The good news is I was able to get this out sooner than I planned—the bad news is I was able to do so while being extremely tired. So sorry if there are (more) mistakes (than usual).

And (of course!) thank you to everyone who reviews! You guys are awesome!

Chapter Seven: Foolish

Bulma did not generally think herself a fool (in fact, she knew she was usually the complete opposite of a fool, what with her being a genius and all)—but she knew what she doing right now was beyond foolish. As she got ready to leave her room again, dressing in the men's clothes she swore she would burn after the last time, Bulma had to keep ignoring the voices in the back of her head that were threatening doom and gloom if she actually went through with her plan of breaking into Vegeta's quarters.

It really was foolish (beyond foolish, as her heart did odd things when she thought about entering Vegeta's quarters), but at least it was not completely her fault that she was leaving. It was her brother's fault. Unknowingly, of course, but really, it was Goku's fault (or so she reasoned).

After her, ah…interesting experience on deck the last time, Bulma had admitted to her brother what she had done. Not everything, of course, but she had told him that she had gone above deck.

Well, truth be told, she had not admitted anything, as much as he had found her sketches of the ship the next day when he had been visiting her in her room. Goku had picked them up from her desk, smiling, "Bulma, what are these?"

Bulma, who had been pacing her tiny room (funny how some fresh air had really helped her sea sickness), froze, looking at her brother, making sure her voice was at its most innocent as she casually said, "oh, those are some…sketches. I just wanted to do some sketches…because…um…I just want to draw the ship so I can work on it." Not a complete lie…

Goku, who had been flipping through them, looked up at her, his eyes narrowing at her sugary sweet tones, his usual happy grin disappearing as he took his sister in. Goku generally believed the best of people, but he had known his sister for way too many years to not recognize those tones. He looked back down at the sketches, a frown forming as he told her, "Bulma, these sketches are really accurate."

Bulma, panicky now, made her eyes go large, trying to affect the most innocent look she could, "I drew them from memory," Goku's head shot up, his eyes meeting her own, and she rushed on, trying to cover herself, "you know, from when I saw the ship," his eyes hardened, and Bulma's voice got small as she added, "…from that first day?" Even to herself, Bulma knew she sounded unsure, questioning.

Goku looked at her closely, before looking back down to the sketches, flipping through them, until he found one particular one, pointing to the mast, "you remembered that there was a chunk of mast missing?"

Bulma gulped, but kept her head up, though she could not keep herself from sounding dubious as she responded. "Yes?"

Goku's frown deepened, looking unknowingly like his cousin, the Duke, as his features darkened, "Bulma, I took the chunk out of that mast my second day on the ship, when I accidentally swung a sledgehammer the wrong way."

Bulma's mouth quickly fell open, realizing she had walked right into his trap. Meeting her brother's gaze, all she could say was, "oh."

Goku's frown quickly disappeared (they usually did), looking worried rather than angry, "tell me the truth Bulma. How did you get these sketches? Have you been talking to some of the men on the ship?"

Bulma sighed, slumping on her bed, her eyes downward, since she knew Goku would not be pleased with what she had to say, "no—I haven't been talking to anyone…I…I uh… I left my room the other night."

Goku's gasp was loud, his voice worried, guilt stabbing through her as he said, "Bulma! What were you thinking? You know how dangerous these sailors are!"

Bulma's guilt irritated her, so she lashed out at Goku, unable to stop herself from getting defensive, as her head popped up, "hey! I don't know that at all! How would I know what these sailors are really like? I've been cooped up here, basically by myself, for three weeks! Dad and you can do whatever you want, and even mom gets to work in the kitchen! I'm constantly sick, bored out of mind, lonely and angry all at the same time!"

Goku's looked down at the plans in his hands after Bulma's outburst, before he looked back up, his features softening as he took in his sister, "I know Bulma, I know its been hard for you. I'm sorry that you've been sick, and that Vegeta has rules in place so that you can't go above deck. But those rules are in place for your own protection, no matter what he says. What if you had run in to anyone when you had been up there?"

Bulma's mouth opened, and she considered telling her brother about the run-in with Vegeta—but then she quickly closed her mouth, deciding against it, as she saw Goku's eyes flash angrily, and he continued, "these men…Bulma, they don't care if you're a lady or not, they just see you as a woman." His tone turned ominous, "if they see you, they will do bad things to you."

Bulma sighed, patting the spot on the bed next to her, waiting for Goku to sit down. When he did, she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, her tone placating, as she said in her softest voice, "I know. I know you said you couldn't even protect me if I went out there, and I'm sorry. But its just…I'm not made to be a prisoner Goku. You should know that better than anyone."

She heard him chuckle, as he placed an arm around her shoulder's, "true."

There was a pause, Bulma waiting, holding her breath, wanting to know if she had gotten out of trouble with Goku, before she heard his voice through his chest, deep, the vibrations running through her, "okay. If I get you the plans to the ship, will you promise me, and I mean it this time, promise me that you won't try and leave your room again?"

Bulma pulled away from Goku, looking up at him quizzically, "the plans to the ship? You know where they are? They're on board?"

Goku looked at her, nodding, "Vegeta has had me dine with him a few times, and he showed me where he keeps them in his room, telling me he designed the ship himself."

Bulma's mind had begun to whir with possibilities when she thought of getting her hands on the real plans to the ship, but then Goku's words registered, and she got sidetracked by what he had said, "wait—you've dined with Vegeta a few times?"

Goku nodded, and she could not stop herself from pulling a face, vastly curious about the Duke, "what's that been like?"

Goku smiled, "the foods been great!"

Bulma smirked, _same old Goku_, before she poked him, "no, not the food—I meant what's it been like with the Duke?"

Goku gave a shrug, his hand on the back of his head, "normal, I guess—or what we should expect to be normal in England."

"Oh?"

"Yeah—unlike at home, where people talk the whole time, well…Vegeta doesn't talk much." Bulma snorted, thinking that an understatement, but let Goku continue, as he tried to explain, "I mean, he tried to tell me about his family, but Vegeta's not a talker, ya know? He kinda just expects me to be on my best manners around him. Dad has been there a couple of the times, and its better when he's there as you know dad can talk about his inventions forever, and Vegeta has a ton of questions to ask dad about improving stuff, but when its just me and Vegeta…I don't know." Goku shrugged again, looking at a loss for words.

Bulma laughed, trying to imagine Goku, so genial, so happy, with Vegeta—so not happy or genial. She would have given anything to be a fly on the wall during a dinner between the long lost cousins. She could not help but mutter, "weird…"

Goku looked at her, earnestly, taking her hands, pulling her from her thoughts as he entreated, "Bulma, I can get you the plans though. I don't think Vegeta will let me take them, as he's really protective of them…something about defense…he explained it once, but I don't really remember," Goku looked far off, as if trying to remember what exactly Vegeta had said.

Bulma sighed, knowing she had to get Goku to focus, "oh yeah—how?"

Goku's eyes snapped back to hers, and he smiled, "how did I forget? I don't know Bulma, it's been a long trip—"

Bulma cut her brother off before he really got going, "no Goku, not about that! I meant, how can you get me the plans?"

Goku laughed, "oh that—I can create a distraction, and Krillin can grab the plans for me. But if I do this for you, you have to promise me you won't do anything stupid… again."

Bulma had smiled at her brother, glad to see her nefarious influence on him present in his plans—the Goku who had come to her years ago would never have schemed of a plan like this. He probably would have just tried to beat up everybody on the ship, grab the plans, and then not even have an escape plan ready. She was glad to see he was using the wits instead of his fists, and she nodded at him, "okay, fine. I promise." She waited just a beat before she continued, as innocently as she could muster, "so…when and how are you planning to do this?"

Any other person would have been suspicious about why this mattered, but Goku, being her sweet, endearing, naive brother, just smiled, "I'll do it sometime next week—it shouldn't be too hard to distract the whole crew, as they are a pretty bloodthirsty lot."

Bulma quirked an eyebrow, interested in her brother's choice of words, "bloodthirsty, huh?" At his nod, she continued, "so… how do you plan to distract them?"

Goku shrugged in an offhanded way, "I'll challenge Vegeta to spar. He's been making little comments about fighting me, but I've been telling him I don't want to."

Bulma sighed inwardly—okay, so maybe he was using his fists as well as his wits. Still an improvement…

But then Goku's words sunk in, and Bulma grew confused, "but why wouldn't you want to? You love to fight!"

Goku sheepishly smiled, before he admitted, "I don't want to beat him in front of everyone, and I'm pretty sure I would win. He has a lot of pride, and I don't think the Duke would take too kindly too me if I embarrassed him in front of everyone."

Bulma had looked at her brother, stunned, and then had burst out laughing. "Oh Goku…"

Now, here she was, having gotten confirmation from her younger brother that this was the day he planned to challenge Vegeta, ready to hear the start of a commotion, so she could sneak upstairs. She knew she had promised Goku she would not do this again—but she had said she would not after he got the plans. Nothing about this liminal time period between him telling her his plan, and him actually getting her the designs. So she, technically, was not breaking her promise.

And she was not being foolish about this (despite what the inner voices were saying)—she was really just trying to make sure everything went according to plan.

Not that she did not trust Krillin—but she really did not trust him enough to not screw things up. Krillin was not sly like she was, and he was likely to be caught when he tried to enter Vegeta's room, ruining everything. So she had taken it upon herself to get there first, grab the plans, and be back in her room before anyone would even realize she was gone.

Simple, right?

Bulma was pacing by her door, hearing nothing but the uneventful sounds of the regular ship day, when all of the sudden she heard pounding feet stomp past her, running down the hall as someone shouted, "the Duke and the Viscount are going to spar! They're going to spar!"

Suddenly her hallway was alight with the sounds of commotion, as the sailors pushed and ran past each other to get to the top deck, a loud clamor her signal that everyone who had been below deck was following the original messenger back up the stairs, leaving below deck nice and empty.

Bulma waited until she heard silence, then gave herself a few more minutes to make sure it was completely quiet, before she left the sanctuary of her room, her hair tied and tucked under the scarf, her breasts bound, this time, by some cloth she had gotten from her brother. She opened her door, and rather than sneak down the hallway, like she had the last time she had left this room, Bulma walked confidently, trying to give herself the air of someone who knew what they were doing, as if she belonged on the ship.

Still, when she got to the stairs that led to the top deck, Bulma felt a moment of trepidation as she heard the raised voices, the excitement, and the sound of fist meeting flesh.

She took a deep, calming breath, closing her eyes, before opening them, and continued the rest of the way up the stairs.

She told herself when she reached sunlight to not even turn towards the fight, but to rather make her way directly to Vegeta's room, get the plans, and be back downstairs before the spar could finish, the distraction of the fight being her best cover for what she was doing. But the second Bulma could see above deck, feeling the heat of the sun on her for the first time in almost a month, Bulma was pulled, as if by some invisible string, not to the empty side of the deck, where Vegeta's quarters were, but rather to the crowd, the sound of the fight, the excitement of the crew catching her interest.

Unbidden, she could not help but be drawn to the fight, questions forming in her mind as she made her way to the crowd: would Goku really thrash Vegeta? Or would the Duke surprise Goku by proving that he was stronger than he looked? Would this plan really work? Were the men on this ship so bloodthirsty, a simple fight would completely capture their attention?

Bulma kept herself small as she made her way to the outside of the ring of big, burly men surrounding her brother and the Duke, keeping her eyes low, in case some one noticed her, knowing it would be her delicate facial features that would give her away first. When she finally cautiously peeked up to the men standing closest to her, she saw everyone's attention was riveted on the fight, and that no one could care less about her.

The men were standing on the railing, on the ropes that led to the crow's nest, on anything that would give them a better view of the fight, cheering, wagers being shouted at loud volumes. Bulma was captured by the spectacle for a few moments, the energy of the crew as they watched the fight enrapturing her—but her attention was soon captured by the sounds of the fight she could hear but could not see from where she stood at the back of the circle.

Bulma tried to stand on her tiptoes, but she was small by normal standards, while most of the sailors were tall, even by giant standards, and so her view was of the backs of the crew she had yet to meet. Bulma grew frustrated with seeing nothing but human flesh (and smelly human flesh at that), and began to look around, trying to find something to stand on, when she heard a loud, "LOOK OUT!"

The crowd parted quickly, as a body came flying past Bulma, hitting the side of the ship with a thud, a man with spiky black hair crumpling to the ground. Bulma let out a gasp, but it was not heard over the cheers, as her eyes were drawn to the man who was attempting to stand, Goku's grin so large, that she could not mistake him for his unsmiling cousin. It seemed he was losing—but it also seemed as if he did not care, as the shit-eating grin he only seemed to get in the middle of a fight was present.

Bulma quickly took in her shirtless brother, noting the marks and swells that were sure to turn to bruises, her heart beat hammering as the crowd moved around Goku, parting to allow Vegeta to calmly walk towards where Goku stood. But Bulma's eyes were on her brother, hoping he knew what he was doing. She did not think the Duke would hurt her brother too much, considering he had traveled to America to find him—but she knew that men could lose themselves in fights, and she was not sure she trusted the Duke. No—she knew she did not trust the Duke.

Bulma, though, got distracted as she realized that the circle had rearranged around the cousins, pushing her to the front of the crowd. She felt slightly ill as she realized how exposed she was as she stood in full view of a crew of men who she had repetitively been warned against. Dressing like a man in the middle of the night was one thing—but dressing as a man in the middle of the day, when the whole of the crew was surrounding her, was beyond stupid she realized with a sudden clarity that always seemed to hit her when her plans were going wrong…hindsight being 20/20 and all that. Her heart had stopped beating, and her skin had gone pale, and Bulma desperately wished she had listened to every stupid word the Duke and her brother had told her about coming above deck.

Bulma quickly tried to turn, pushing herself out of the circle, but found nothing but human bodies, pressing against her as the men followed the fight, pressing her closer to the two men on board who were sure to recognize her in a heartbeat. Bulma gave a frustrated sigh at finding herself trapped, but felt a modicum of relief as she realized all of the men's eyes were glued to the fight that was going on, no one taking notice of her, not even the big man she recognized as Vegeta's valet…or bodyguard…or something. She quickly scanned the faces of the men, and let out a loud sigh of relief when she saw her father was not amongst the men currently above deck. Well at least everyone who knew her was distracted…

Bulma decided her best course of action would be to wait. This fight would shift again, and she would be free to run back downstairs, unnoticed, her plans of snatching the blueprints completely abandoned as she realized how reckless she was being in not trusting Krillin to grab them himself. Let the bald midget grab them for her if he loved her so much—that would be his neck on the line, not hers, and she would prefer to keep it that way.

So Bulma decided to blend, turning back towards the fight, cheering with the rest of the men, pitching her voice low, hunching her shoulders over, trying to affect the mannerisms of a sailor. Not that she knew what those were, but she still affected them, using her quick intellect to observe the men around her as she turned back to the fight.

When she looked back to the fight, her brother's large back was to her, his posture recognizable, as she had watched him spar plenty of times. She cheered him on, watching as he twisted out of the Duke's way. She could not see Vegeta from this vantage point, as her brother's big body had him good and covered, but she could tell he was fast. Maybe the Duke was a lot tougher than she imagined, especially if he was holding his own against Goku…

Her brother was unrivaled in New York, and the only thing that stopped him from making a career as a successful pugilist was his genuine disinterest in making money. On fighting, or on anything in general. She smiled as she remembered having to convince him it was not a waste of money to sleep on a bed, rather than the floor when he had first lived with them.

She was drawn back into the fight, though, when Goku sidestepped a particularly vicious looking punch, ducking and weaving out of the way, Vegeta finally coming into her view as he followed Goku's moves. Bulma's eyes grew large, and she felt like she had been punched in the stomach by one of the Duke's vicious looking right hooks, the air leaving her with a soft 'oof,' as she drank the sight of him in.

Seeing him, standing there, so poised to strike, so regal, so elegant—so shirtless, Bulma was beyond shocked. Vegeta was not as big and as broad as her brother was, but he was no less muscular—just muscular in a different way. He was smaller, more compact, but his body was defined, every inch of him honed to its most perfect musculature, making him (and she was not exaggerating as she was a scientist) the most perfect specimen of manhood. He just looked so virile, and sturdy, and Bulma, who was not a swooner, felt very close to giving into a good swoon. Maybe he would catch her with those powerful arms—Bulma had to stop herself from licking her lips at imagining those arms around her…again, she realized belatedly.

As Vegeta followed Goku's movements, with all the grace of a predator waiting to strike, her mouth went slack as she took him in as she moved, the elegance of his movements reminding her not of pugilism, but of the skilled Russian ballet troupe she had seen once in Manhattan. He was flawless, especially as his bronzed muscles bunched and moved as he effortlessly moved and fought, shirtless, and his expression—that made her give a little gasp as well.

The Duke was smiling.

His smile was not as large (or goofy looking) as Goku, and true, she had seen him smile twice before (funny that she could remember that)—but this smile, he just looked…he just looked so happy, that Bulma felt herself further entranced. When he smiled he truly became a different person, everything about him softening and making her want to reach out and touch him.

As Bulma took him in, uncaring, and unnoticing as the circle moved away from her, pushing her back to the back of the group, her view of Vegeta lost, Bulma was hit with the full force of the desire she had been feeling for the Duke since the second she had met him—and what she had been staunchly ignoring since their kiss a week ago. All of the memories flooded her as she felt warmth spread through her body, everything she had been trying to suppress coming to the forefront as she stared mutely to the spot Vegeta had just been in.

The sensations of when he had kissed her, touching her, had completely overwhelmed her at the time. The kiss had not been long, but it had been so…possessive—as if he wanted to make his mark on every inch of her skin. The worst part was she wanted him too—not that she knew that at the time, as she was so scared out of her mind about her situation. But she remembered the way his lips had pressed into hers, how his tongue had tasted her mouth, how he had sucked the very air from her lungs—and Bulma knew she wanted it to happen again. What scared her though, was that she knew it just was not the kissing she wanted—she wanted Vegeta with the same savage need to possess him that he had displayed towards her.

But how could this be possible? How could she greatly desire a man she was not sure she even liked? No, she was pretty sure she hated him—throwing her complete desire to be with him, touching him, holding him, breathing him in—into a vast confusion. How could she feel things for Vegeta, she had only felt in a faint comparison with Yamcha, a man she thought she was in love with? And what was she doing? He was a Duke—the very Duke that had come to rip her life apart—she should feel nothing but hatred for him. And she did, there was no denying her hatred…but the pull she felt to him, even now, completely bewildered her.

Especially as she was sure, to the Duke, she was nothing more than a silly chit who he found great amusement in kissing. Surely the way the kiss had effected him was minimal in comparison to what she was currently going through…the man probably laughed at being able to kiss her speechless…

Bulma heard a particularly vicious sounding thwack, pulling her from reverie, and she regained her senses, turning back to the group of men who were still cheering the fight on. She saw them raise a loud cheer, muttering amongst themselves, and Bulma realized that her time on deck was growing way too long. Every second she stood there, motionless, was another second closer to her being discovered.

So she kept her head low, and fled back to her room, the need to escape completely overwhelming her. Bulma pounded down the steps, running down the hallway to the room she suddenly saw, not as a prison, but as a sanctuary, before bursting in, and slamming the door shut behind her.

The second she was closed in the safe haven that was her room, Bulma slid to the floor against the door, her mouth and eyes wide as she wondered just what she had gotten herself into.

"I should have stayed in America…"

* * *

><p>Vegeta stood at the bow of the ship, his back ramrod straight, as the <em>Saiyan Lady <em>traveled down the Thames, London looming large above him. As the more familiar landmarks slipped past him with the tides, Vegeta let out a contented sigh. Vegeta was not one to usually give a damn about where he lived, or getting home (his many years at sea had seen to that), but he had to admit that it was good to be home, back to London, where things made a hell of a lot more sense than they did in America.

Sure, he had the problem of transforming his country bumpkin of a cousin into a proper viscount, of getting in contact with Basil, as soon as he possibly could, and of seeing if the widow would be amiable towards an assignation so he could rid himself of some of the lustful demons he had been unable to chase out since meeting the blue-hared wench, but for now, right now, at this moment, he was content to pass the familiar sights of his homeland, anxious to get to his estate in Mayfair, at Grosvenor Square, the richest area of homes in London proper, where anyone with a title was sure to own a large town residence.

This trip across the Atlantic, one he had made plenty of times, had been the longest, most agonizing trip of his life—and it all came down to one person. He should not have kissed her. He realized that now, but at the time, he had been unable to resist the pull of her perfect, rosebud mouth. Ever since that kiss, though, he had been unable to cast her from his mind, and found himself trying to think of reasons to go knock on her door, even if just to see her again. Or, to do what he truly desired—bust her door down, carry her upstairs to his large bed, and make her moan and scream for hours on end.

Not that he was even sure Bulma really wanted him. As he thought to the short kiss on deck that night, Vegeta, who was not a cringer, wanted to cringe as he realized he had been the one groaning, the one unable to stop themselves. Bulma had not even reacted, not that he had needed her too at the time, or given her the real chance too, but, if he were a lesser man, Vegeta would admit that he was a bit stung by her non-reaction.

But Vegeta knew that if he truly wanted to—he could make Bulma crazy for him, have her crave him, moaning and panting until her throat was hoarse and she was so satiated, she could not even walk (something he had to admit he had dreamed of more than once in the past month).

It was a good thing he did not want to though—he knew his lust for her was based mainly on her being the most attractive female he had been around in months (by default), and his self-imposed celibacy needed to end. And soon. So he could get back to being annoyed by the blue-hared wench—not wanting her!

"London Shipyards ahead!"

Vegeta felt himself relax the tiniest bit as he heard the captain yell that—he was home. So damn close.

The ship rocked slightly as it hit the side of the dock, but Vegeta hardly noticed as he decided it was time to get moving. As Vegeta turned, he ignored the twinge in his neck, one of the many leftover aches that he had from his fight with his cousin from a few days ago, though he did not show an ounce of pain on the outside. Kakarrot was more skilled as a fighter than he had anticipated—the other surprise from his American guests on this trip.

Vegeta had anticipated some form of natural ability from Kakarrot's Saiyan roots when it came to fighting, but he had not expected him to be so skilled, so studious, such a good fighter—had that old pervert who Kakarrot called Master actually been worth his salt? Sure, Vegeta had beaten Kakarrot in the long run, but Vegeta could not shake the feeling that Kakarrot was not really fighting to beat him, but only to entertain himself for some measure of time.

It felt like to Vegeta that every time that Vegeta would get close to finishing Kakarrot off, Kakarrot would surprise him by ducking and weaving, showing bursts of ingenuity and planning that belied the rest of the sloppy way he was fighting. He had been Vegeta's personal punching bag for a long measure of the fight, but Vegeta knew the difference between a man who was fighting to win, and fighting to lose. And Kakarrot had been fighting to lose…

Vegeta shook himself from thoughts of the fight, though, when he realized the ship was almost ready for him to leave, being tied to the dock. Within minutes Vegeta was striding from the ship, much quicker than he usually did, his items left behind carelessly, as he knew someone else would gather them up. He noted the surprised looks on some of the men in the crew, but Vegeta ignored them. Usually, Vegeta spent lots of time on his ship when it docked, often the last one to go home—but today he needed to put some distance between himself and the _Saiyan Lady_.

Mostly because he knew that Bulma would be coming topside any moment, and he was not completely sure he trusted himself around her. Vegeta usually prided himself on his ironclad control, but he had to admit that around her…he sometimes grew powerless. It was not a feeling he relished, and not one he was desperate to repeat. So he shouted orders to the useless man who had the title of captain, found Nappa, giving him instructions on what to do with his cousin, and he was off before anyone else on the ship could blink.

The horse ride to his manor was quick, as Vegeta had taken it many times, and he used the chance to push the rented horse fast and hard through the crowded thoroughfare, needing to clear his head. The more distance he put between himself and Kakarrot (and Bulma) the easier it became to breath and think as he usually did. Vegeta needed a clear head at all times, and losing his control of his emotions (as he so often did around the Americans), was not something he could afford. Especially as he was expecting a correspondence from Basil, concerning…well concerning things of great interest to the Duke, that he needed a clear head to process and plan for accordingly.

When Vegeta walked up the steps to his fashionable town home, his growing sense of relief at being here startled him. He entered the home with more relish than usual, and he was not surprised to see Jeffries, the same butler who had served his father, standing at the wait, his head bowed in respect, "your grace."

Vegeta nodded at the according show of respect, something he had not received from anyone in America, though Vegeta continued to stride into his home as he spoke, "Jeffries. I will be in my office, please send all of my correspondence in, and make sure I am not disturbed for the next few hours. I have much to catch up on. Push anything from Basil to the front, please, and have someone at the wait for my response to him—which I will need delivered immediately."

Jeffries' acquiescence was quick, "of course your grace." There was a pause, and Vegeta almost made it all the way to his office before Jeffries calmly cleared his throat, catching Vegeta's attention, "there is the slight matter of…"

Jeffries pause startled him, and Vegeta turned to look at the man, wondering what had his unflappable butler looking uncomfortable, "the slight matter of…?" Vegeta prompted as Jeffries continued to be silent.

Jeffries stood straighter (if that was possible), before he said in his most regal voice, "I am to announce that the Dowager Duchess of Vegeta has been in residence for the last three days, and is currently waiting for you in the front sitting room."

Vegeta, upon hearing Jeffries words, felt his heart drop into his stomach, though nothing in his outward appearance changed, except for the slight narrowing of his eyes, his frustration beyond apparent as he spoke coldly, "the Duchess is here?"

Jeffries gave a slight nod, and Vegeta sighed, loudly, before he turned to face Jeffries, "you will tell the Duchess I will see her when I can as I am a very busy man, and do not have time for a social call. Also, see if you can get her out of the house, set up somewhere else—oh, and prepare…four rooms for guests, one in my wing, the rest in the West wing."

Jeffries was giving a bow, not even flapped by Vegeta's odd requests when the front sitting room door flew open, slamming hard against the wall, Vegeta's attention completely caught. His face was stoic as he turned towards the sound, taking in the old (yet hearty and strong) woman, who stood on the other side of the threshold, her dark eyes flashing indignantly as she pointed her cane at Vegeta, "you will see me now, grandson, as I do not make the trip to London lightly."

Vegeta was completely unable to stop himself from muttering, "oh fuck."

* * *

><p>AN: What's this? A grandmother? But Vegeta does not have a grandmother!

Well she does here—and by Vegeta's reaction, I think we can all surmise she is not going to be a loving, gentle grandmother...tune in next time to find out her reaction to Kakarrot!

Also, I realize that my plan of releasing shorter chapters more often is failing here—I think every chapter I write is getting longer…


	9. A Lack of Humanity

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: I could have probably cut this in two separate chapters, but sometimes my fingers don't know when to stop, as obvious by my penchant for run-on sentences (like this one!).

I want to give a big thank you to all of my new readers and reviewers—you guys have been exceedingly gracious with me, and it's enough to make a girl blush.

And to everyone who's been reading, you know I love you, right?

Chapter Eight: A Lack of Humanity

"Oh fuck"

"What did you just say?"

Vegeta's answer was instantaneous, knowing that while his grandmother might be quite old, she was definitely in possession of all her facilities, including, unluckily for him, her hearing, "I said what luck." Her frown deepened at his obvious cover, but Vegeta continued smoothly, lying to his grandmother second nature to him, "I was just about to write you."

Her eyes narrowed, trying to search every inch of her grandson's face for a hint that Vegeta had been lying—but she was not going to find any, seeing as Vegeta could keep his face as stoic as a statue. While she closely examined him, though, Vegeta looked at her just as closely, assessing. It had been years since he had last seen her—at his own doing of course.

Vegeta did not come from the kind of family who ever called on each other, or was even warm to each other, and last he had heard from the Duchess, she was writing to him telling (not asking) him to increase her allowance. Though what she needed a bigger allowance in the ancestral home near Scotland for, he was not sure. Maybe more coal, as it got quite cold—or so he had been told. Ever since the dowager Duchess had taken up residence there, Vegeta had felt no inclination to go visit.

He had not been expecting to see her anytime soon, or, if he thought about it, ever, really. But here she was, standing, breathing, glaring, all while Jeffries, proving himself to be worth his salt as a butler, murmured, "I will ring for tea," before disappearing from his employer's sights.

Jeffries voice jolted Vegeta into action, and he gave the Duchess a nod, heading toward the stairs as he had been doing before her interruption, "if you will excuse me, I will be down shortly, and then we can discuss…" what the hell you are doing here? "How your travels were."

But as he turned to go, the steely voice he remembered from his childhood, the one that had lectured him constantly on responsibility, duty, honor, pride, and a host of other things, every time he asked if he could do something not deemed 'duke-worthy,' hit him, full force, freezing him. "You will come to the drawing room now, Vegeta, as we have things to discus before your American guests arrive." Vegeta's back stiffened as he realized what she had said—how could she possibly know about his American guests?

As Vegeta shot a quick look over his shoulder, he saw the triumphant gleam in his grandmother's eyes as coal black eyes met coal black eyes, "oh yes—I know all about your arrival in London today on the _Saiyan Lady_, with someone who looks remarkably like Bardock."

Vegeta cursed his grandmother's network of spies—she should be working for the crown with a set of connections like that. She seemed to know everything, and delighted in being the first to inform so-and-so that their wife was cheating on them, or that their husband was gambling their ancestral home away. Which was why he had sent her to the furthest out ducal home, telling her she could have full reign of the household if she never saw fit to visit him.

He should have guessed it would have been something astounding to get her to leave the borderlands—he just had not guessed that she would know about _this_.

His grandmother motioned to him with one of her claws, "now you will come with me, so we can talk in private. Do I make myself clear?" Vegeta stared at her, hard, for a moment, but then gave a quick nod, knowing that it was not worth his energy to try and argue with his grandmother. So he followed her into the front sitting room, cursing the whole time.

Quietly, this time, of course.

* * *

><p>Vegeta left his appointment with his grandmother in a much fouler mood than he had been when he had entered it. Not that he was surprised—his grandmother always had, and always would have, that affect on him. Since his mother passed away when he was quite young, his father, like any man of the peerage would have when it came to child rearing, had called upon his mother to help raise his—with the help of an armful of nanny's, governesses', and tutors, of course. But even with an army to raise him, there was no question in Vegeta's mind about which one had been the disciplinarian in his past—the woman social convention forced him to call grandmother (as it was certainly not familial affection that made him acknowledge her as his ancestor).<p>

All she had to do was speak in that steely voice, or flash him that look that spoke of how ashamed she was of his actions, and Vegeta was taken back to numerous memories of his youth. They no longer affected him as they once did, but they did remind him, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he had no great feelings for his grandmother. Besides resentment and distrust, of course.

His grandmother had not closely controlled Vegeta for his own good growing up—it had always been about her, and her image. "Do not make me look bad, Vegeta," or "do not bring dishonor to my family name," or, what seemed to be her favorite by its frequency in use, "you are not worth being called my grandson. You shame what I have done for this family."

Maybe if Vegeta had believed she raised Vegeta harshly for his own good, rather than her own, he would not hate her so violently. But no, she was selfish, callous, and worst of all, she was his blood. He waited everyday for the missive telling him that his grandmother had finally passed—but Vegeta was starting to believe she would outlive him…

In short, Vegeta had never got along with his grandmother, and never would. His life was best served when he did not remember his grandmother existed. He was convinced she did not have a shred of humanity in her, her whole being tied up to the Ducal title she had married into, and she did not care who she hurt, or even destroyed, in keeping that title and the Vegeta name pristine.

Surprisingly, though, in the matter of what to do with the Americans and Kakarrot, Vegeta had been shocked to find that him and his grandmother not only agreed, but that they even had common goals. Which made Vegeta question what she was really doing here, and why she was being so…acquiescent…to everything he had said, and wanted. The dowager had her own agenda, there could be no question about that—but it was too early going for Vegeta to really say what it was.

If his grandmother had her secret reasons for being so delighted in finding Kakarrot, though, then so did Vegeta. Vegeta knew that even his grandmother (or her network of gossipy spies) did not know the true reason he had sought Kakarrot out, which suited him just fine.

But he did not dwell on that, as he nodded to Jeffries as he passed him in the hall, his tone brusque, businesslike, "have my valet meet me in my office in an hour. I need you to set up three extra bedrooms, two in the east wing, one in the family wing—and when our guests arrive, send them to the dowager Duchess."

Jeffries took all of this in with a single nod, than raised a tray containing a single missive, "of course sir. This arrived for you while you were with your grandmother."

Vegeta's face did not change, though he recognized the delicate hand-writing immediately, as he took the note from the tray, and turned, striding into his office, locking the door behind him, sighing as he entered the familiar room. The ducal office was large and masculine, where leather-bound books lined the wall, a huge desk, couch, and chair occupying the majority of the space, an always-stocked decanter standing behind his desk.

This was the same office Vegeta's father had worked in, as had the Duke before that, and the Duke before that, and the Duke before that…the history was almost exhausting. The Ducal lineage went back hundreds of years, and there were about thirty honorific titles awarded to the Vegeta's for their loyalty and fealty to the British monarchy throughout the ages. But Vegeta paid it no heed as he entered the room that had been his alone since he had turned twenty-three almost a decade ago now, as he took the solitary note, putting it aside as he saw the rest of his correspondence waiting for him.

Vegeta quickly grabbed the large stack he had to get through, went to his bookshelf, and, without even looking, grabbed one particular book that let out a click as the whole of the large bookshelf turn in, a cleverly hidden doorway seamlessly integrated into the ducal office. Vegeta had not made many changes to ducal office, what with its history and precedent, but those that he had, well, he was sure the ancestral Duke's would have been proud of his ingenuity.

Beyond the false bookshelf was another office, smaller, windowless, but more crammed than the outer one, with charts, maps, correspondence, pictures, and a thousand other things Vegeta constantly needed at his beck and call. What had been part of a closet and the sitting room next door was now Vegeta's war room.

Though he had officially retired from the Navy when he had come to reclaim his heritage when his father had grown ill, Vegeta had never truly left the service. As soon as he had gained the powerful seat of the Duke of Vegetasei, an old superior of his had approached him about using his power and influence to continue to serve His Majesty's Secret Service by becoming a spy. Vegeta, never one to sit still, and always searching for adventure, had immediately said yes.

Vegeta had used his connections, both in the Ton, and the navy, and with other assorted characters he had met on his travels, to continue to help Britain. In the past five years, he had become more and more involved with the war office, especially as the looming threat from Russia made it look more and more like another war was coming. Sure, the life of the spy was not always the most exciting, as it relied more upon brain than brawn, but Vegeta discovered he had a real knack for subterfuge, and he found real pleasure in being able to continue to fight for Britain, even if it was not open warfare. And, if he was being honest, this was one secret he was sure that even the dowager would not figure out—and Vegeta found great pleasure in that as well.

Swinging the door to the inner office closed, Vegeta sat, not at the desk that was in the center of the room, but at the small leather sofa behind it, quickly flipping through his letters. When he finally got to one that had the simple return address of Basil T. Gardening, Vegeta tore it open, seeing a larger sheet of paper, with a smaller sheet enclosed, recognizing the code immediately, and translating it in his head. Though the note was full of information about flowers his 'gardener' Basil thought that the Duke might be interested in, the real information was:

_Note traveling from Russia, intersected. Note enclosed, in original Russian. Translated: "Agent Zhelonie is being reactivated in Paris to spy on England." Go immediately, and track him down, giving war office all information that can be found out about who he is. Identify only, do not engage. _

Vegeta let out a loud sigh as he thought about what Basil was asking him to do, thinking how opportune this letter was. Just imagining being under the same roof as his grandmother had his skin crawling. She might not have power over him anymore, but that did not mean he liked her. This gave him the perfect opportunity to go abroad, to look at his business interests in Paris, while really trying to figure out the identity of one of the greatest spies of the Russian empire, Zhelonie.

All that was known about 'Zhelonie' was that he was French, and that he had managed to smuggle more information to the Russians' about British defensive plans than any other living spy. How he had not been captured and killed yet, was an extremely large thorn in the side of the British monarchy and government, but, Vegeta smirked as he thought, that was because they had not set Vegeta to the task of finding him yet. Zhelonie's days were numbered…as were those of the Russian monarchy he worked for.

Vegeta quickly got through the rest of his correspondence, before going back to the first note, pulling out a folder from his desk, an extremely thin folder, marked Zhelonie. Vegeta told himself it would be much fatter by the time he returned from Paris—it was time to figure out who this agent was, and Vegeta was going to be the one who did it.

As Vegeta left his inner office, making sure the secret door was secure behind him, Vegeta walked back to his other desk, where he noticed the perfumed note he had left on it. Vegeta smirked at the delicate handwriting, before he held the note to his nose, smiling as he recognized the scent—which triggered some heated memories with it…

As he held it to his nose, trying to lose himself in the memories of the time he and the Widow had shared together, Vegeta was jostled from those memories as he was accosted to the sounds of many feet in his entrance hall, and the sounds of American-accented voices coming closer to him, pulling him out of whatever reverie he had been trying to lose himself in. As one female voice in particular came through to him, stirring some other, more innocent, and somehow more potent, memories with it, Vegeta growled, forcing himself to ignore Bulma's voice as he tore open the note.

_Heard you were back in London. My bedroom door is always open._

No signature was given, nor was it needed, and Vegeta felt his blood begin to boil at the suggestion implied in the simple note. Vegeta sighed, thinking this was also just what he needed. His grandmother was one reason he needed to leave England, but the blue-haired witch was the other. She tempted him, driving him to such a point of desire, he seemed to lose all rational thought around her. He knew he should not even touch her—yet when he was next to her, hearing her, smelling her, seeing her—he wanted to do nothing more than lose himself in her embrace, touching her, tasting her. Which was beyond madness.

Vegeta frowned, unconsciously crumpling the Widow's note as he thought about what his next steps would be. He would see his valet, make sure all of his affairs and estates were in order, he would make sure his things were ready for a trip to his oversea investments in Paris for tomorrow, and than he would go see the Widow, who would surely cure him of his craving for the American heiress—simple as that.

Though as he heard the sound of feminine laughter through the hallways (a sound that this household had surely not heard as long as Vegeta had been alive), Vegeta could not help but wonder if anything was ever as simple as that when it came to Bulma.

* * *

><p>Bulma's nose was pressed to the glass window of the carriage as the streets of London rolled by. She loved cities, always had—she had though Manhattan was the gleaming jewel of society—but now she saw how mistaken she was as they passed through London proper. People, more people than she had ever seen, everywhere, buildings pressed so tightly together that not even a cat would fit between them, horses, carriages, vendors—oh it was all so exciting.<p>

If it had been up to Bulma (and Goku, whose nose was also pressed to the glass on the other side), they would have walked all the way to Mayfair, and taken their time to do it, exploring every nook and cranny of the streets they were passing. Who wanted to be cooped up in a carriage after such a long boat ride, anyways?

Not that they were given much choice in that matter as when they had docked, that bald brute (as Bulma had taken to calling Nappa) had basically herded them to the carriage, shoving the Briefs' family inside, while he and Krillin rode atop. She wondered what the two bald men were talking about—how they lost their hair perhaps?

But her thoughts were consumed with nothing but London itself once the carriage had started its journey, and as they stopped in front of what was probably the most imposing residence on a whole square of grand residences, Bulma felt the air leave her lungs with a whoosh. This was Saiyan Hall? This was not a hall! This was a mansion to end all mansions! Her and Goku eyes caught briefly, where they gaped at each other, before they scurried out of the carriage behind their already departed parents.

Bulma had to remind herself not to run up the steps like Goku was, as she hurried after her family, and when the door opened, an imposing, non-smiling butler, opened the door, bowing, "you are expected in the front sitting room for tea."

Goku's stomach gave a growl, and he grinned, "is there going to be sandwiches?"

"I can have some sent from the kitchens, sir." There was a pause, before the butler gave a deep bow in Goku's direction, "and might I add welcome back to London, Lord Vegeta."

The butler turned, leaving the whole Briefs family gaping after him, though Bulma was the first to recover, "I guess we should all get used to Goku's new title?"

Goku made a face, "God, I hope not."

Bulma just let out a laugh, smiling at her brother as she patted his arm, though she noticed that as her parents locked eyes for just a moment, before they turned into the house, their walk was a little less ecstatic than it had been just a few seconds earlier. Though how a walk could be ecstatic to begin with was almost beyond Bulma.

As they followed the butler into the front sitting room, Bulma felt herself tense up as she realized that this would be her first face-to-face meeting with Vegeta since that night on the ship. She grew nervous as she realized how close they would be to each other, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. She had barely come to grips with the fact that she felt _something_ (cough, cough, desire) for the Duke, other than derision, and she was not sure how this meeting would go. She was more afraid that she was going to find herself going weak in the knees around him than anything. She had never been the type of female to swoon, but around Vegeta…

But as Bulma entered the front sitting room, she was surprised to feel relief mixed with disappointment rush through her to see an older woman, who had the same stark facial features of Vegeta, sitting, waiting for them. She was holding a dark cane, topped with the head of an ape, with glinting ruby eyes, in front of her, her gray and white hair pulled back in an extremely tight bun, her mouth thin, her eyes glinting hard. She seemed to emanate coldness—not an ounce of warmth came from her, and Bulma frowned as she took the woman in.

Bulma knew instantly, as the woman's eyes traveled all four of the Briefs', the thin line of her mouth tightening, that Bulma would not like this woman. Especially when her eyes flared to Bulma, and her lips turned into a sneer as she observed her. Bulma consciously tugged at the day dress she was wearing, resisting the urge to growl at this woman—what did she expect? They had been cooped up on a boat for a month, and Bulma had not taken a proper bath since than—did this woman really expect her to look her best? Bulma frowned, thinking that if this woman was who Bulma thought she was (Vegeta's grandmother, or elderly aunt), than the answer would be yes.

The older woman waited until they were all seated, then introduced herself, "I am the dowager duchess of Vegetasei."

Bulma waited for the woman to say more, give her name, perhaps, but this information was not forthcoming. Apparently the dowager duchess was not one to stand on informality, and, even to her own houseguests, she expected nothing but the most proper of titles to be observed.

Bulma's mother, having been brought up in London society, was the first to give a curtsy, "your grace." Her family members followed her lead, with differing level of success. Bulma was as graceful as her mother, and her father gave a stiff bow, but Goku, slow on the uptake, noticed what his family was doing, and hurriedly tried to copy them. He bowed so low, Bulma was afraid he would tip over, something, she noticed, the eagle-eyed dowager had no doubt noticed. In fact, Bulma would not have been surprised if this old woman had actually taken into account the degree each one of them had bowed to her…and had found it lacking.

She seemed the sort of woman who was never satisfied.

Ten seconds in this woman's presence, and already the Duke of Vegetasei's aloofness had made more sense…

Conversation did not flow easily between the family and the dowager, mainly because she seemed only to want to observe her long-lost grandson, while he only was interested in eating whatever was brought out. Bulma, who had been so elated that she was back on solid ground, had found herself wishing she were back on a ship, far away from this dragon of a woman. Or, as Bulma squinted, looking at the cane the woman was holding, maybe saying this ape of a woman would be more accurate.

Bulma was pulled from trying to compare Lady Vegetasei with the apes she remembered seeing at the zoo in Manhattan, when the dowager had leaned closer to Kakarrot, capturing his face with one of her hands, turning his head, this way and that. A silence descended over the group, and Bulma frowned, wondering if with hands like that (well, claws really), the dowager duchess would do better to be compared to a bird of prey. A vulture, maybe?

The dowager let go of Kakarrot's face, and he settled back in the couch he was sitting next to Bulma on, his astonishment at her treatment of him clear as the food he had been in the process of masticating remained unchewed, "you need to learn to eat food properly, not this unrefined shoveling of food that you are currently doing." The dowager scoffed, shaking her head at the indignity of it all, "I can see why my grandson recommended that we wait to introduce Kakarrot to the Ton on the whole. His manners truly are abominable at best."

Bulma was too shocked at the venom in the dowagers words to stop herself from speaking plainly, "Vegeta said that?"

Bulma instantly realized her mistake as the Duchess turned her steely gaze onto Bulma, her eyes sparking with ire and condescension as she did another close examination of Bulma. With another stare-down like that, Bulma would start to question whether or not her soul would make it through intact. A vulture seemed down right cheery compared to this woman.

The dowager's black eyes glittered with malice as she spoke next, her every word meant to be as sharp as a blade, "yes, _the Duke_ did in fact say that." There was a heavy emphasis put on Vegeta's proper title, and Bulma felt her face color at the cut the dowager was giving her. They were in proper English society now, and, as the dowager duchess was clearly stating, Bulma was not worthy of using the Duke's given name.

Which of course made Bulma peevishly want to use it more and more.

But before she could say anything, like maybe impulsively reveal what _the Duke_ kissed like, the Duchess was already looking back at Kakarrot, causing Bulma's frustration to rise even higher. So she was not even worth more than a moments notice, was she?

But the Duchess took no notice of Bulma's rising anger, and instead spoke to Goku, "we will start you with etiquette lessons immediately, since we will have your grand coming out ball in about a month. People do not know who you are yet, but we want to make it clear that when we introduce you to the Ton at large that you are a Vegeta, and that you are every bit as dignified as we are." Implying, of course, that Goku was anything but dignified.

Bulma felt Goku's hand reach for hers on the couch, giving it a squeeze, and she turned her palm up so it was facing his, and gave him a reassuring squeeze back. She did not need to look at her brother to know what his reaction to this news was. If there was one thing that Goku hated more than anything—it was lessons. Goku wanted to do nothing more than spar, and be outside. He was not good at society functions, and his manners, while there, were abysmal even by the more lax New York standards.

Bulma understood what she had to do immediately—Goku might not have been her God-given brother, but he had been the best brother a lonely only child like her could have wished for. She did not often get to play the role of protective older sister, but when opportunities arose it did not mean Bulma would shy away from them. Giving her brother's hand another reassuring squeeze, she spoke clearly, forcing the dowager to meet her eye, "then I am to take part in these lessons too."

The Duchess frowned at Bulma, her dislike of Bulma evident in her every move, and though she looked like she wanted to do nothing more than disagree, Bulma was beyond surprised when the Duchess agreed. "Yes, I suppose you will need them as well. The Duke has informed me that he is sponsoring you this season, and though you are not family, it would hardly look well of the Vegeta's to present someone as unpolished as you are to the Ton."

Bulma felt her hackles rise, knowing an insult when she heard one, but said nothing to the fact that her manners were above all compare (which they, without a doubt, were). Instead, just to annoy the dowager duchess, Bulma grabbed one of the sandwiches from the table, and shoved it all in her mouth in one go, chewing loudly. The dowager's eyes narrowed, but Bulma just kept her face serene as she could, to finally say (with a mouth full of food), "but of course," though it came out sounding a lot more like "buh o' core."

Bulma's mother's shocked face almost shamed Bulma, but than she noticed that her father was smiling as he shook his head, and Goku was practically beaming at her. She just smiled serenely back at the dowager, who's eyes narrowed so much, Bulma was afraid she was going to go cross-eyed.

It was a petty, and childish, move, but after the month Bulma had been having, she would take any point against the dowager she could get.

* * *

><p>After the scene Bulma had put on to the dowager, what with her 'atrocious American manners,' tea had ended rather quickly. The dowager had ordered servants to show the Briefs to their rooms, where it was understood they were too rest, clean up, and make themselves presentable for a formal supper with her in the formal dining room.<p>

To Goku, this sounded like absolute torture. He positively missed the freedom and physicality of working on the ship. How had he gone from being able to work mindlessly with his hands, hard, back-breaking labor, to being told that he would be forced to endure hours of etiquette lessons? And now he was expected to take one of his favorite meals with the dowager, who was sure to watch every little thing he did? How could he enjoy food, knowing that that older woman would be measuring every little thing he did—and no doubt finding him a disappointment?

Goku wished he knew where Krillin was—he had brought his best friend here to be his valet, not because he needed one (or that he thought that Krillin would prove a suitable valet for that matter), but because he knew that Krillin would be there to spar with him. But now, when he really needed to pound out some aggression, Krillin was nowhere to be found. Figured. Though, Goku thought as he stretched to one side on the comfortable bed he was trying to rest on, maybe the Duke would prove a suitable challenge for him in the upcoming months.

Goku frowned as he thought that—he knew that his life had changed, that he was now this 'Kakarrot' who apparently had lands and a title—but it still seemed like this was all a detour from his real life, back in New York. Not New York City either, but the countryside, where he had spent the last nine winters with the Briefs. Goku was not built for society, and he knew that this 'season,' (whatever that truly was) was going to be nothing but a bore. He needed to be physical, active, outside—not in the middle of the most crowded city in the world.

As Goku bounced from his soft bed, deciding to give up on the fruitless attempt of sleeping during the day (not that Goku could not take a good nap when it was warranted), Goku strolled from his room, frowning as he saw nothing but long, deserted halls. He was not even sure where his family…his real family that was, not the one he had just discovered, though he guessed they too could be his real family…were located. The butler had led him down one hallway, while a maid had led the Briefs down another.

Goku was just frowning at his dilemma of finding Bulma (if he could not spar, than he could talk to his sister) when the irresistible aroma of fresh baked scones hit him—and Goku, powerless to his stomach, followed the extremely enticing aroma down the stairs, down a few hallways, down a few more hallways (seriously, how large was this house), when he found the busiest room of the manor—the kitchen.

Goku, unnoticing of the three scullery maids who were gaping at him as he entered, immediately went to a pan of fresh made scones, and without thinking, shoved four into his mouth at once. Letting out a groan as the buttery soft bread melted in his mouth, Goku closed his eyes, feeling true pleasure. Food—now there was something that would never let him down…

Not that Goku was able to enjoy the food for long, as a loud thwack, and the stinging pain of a frying pan hitting his head had him dropping the scones, his eyes opening as he doubled over in pain, "ow!"

An irritated, angry, female voice met him, "how dare ye! Those are the scones for the Vegetasei family!"

Goku looked up, still holding the part of his head where he had been hit, though, as his double vision slowly settled down to regular old single vision, focused on the extremely angry young woman who was looking at him. She was short, but, as she put her hands on her hips, he could sense strength in her (especially after that hit), her black hair tied in a bun on the top of her head, her dark eyes flashing challengingly up at him as she lifted her chin. Her voice was shrill, but even so, he could hear the proud Scottish accent, "now just who do ye think ye are? Coming into me kitchen, and eating me food?"

Goku gaped for a second, noticing, peculiarly, that the harpy yelling at him was probably about his age, and…well, not ugly, that was for sure. "I am Goku. You made these?"

The woman frowned, "o' course. I'm Chi-Chi—the cook. Now what's yer role here? Are ye the new stable boy Jeffries tol' me about?"

Goku shook his head, and plainly told her, "no, I'm the new Vegeta."

Goku watched with amazement as this woman's face changed completely, dropping, her skin losing color as she took him in, "yer the…yer the new viscount?"

Her words were almost a whisper, and Goku frowned at her, wondering what was wrong with her—it was just a title. He was still the same old Goku. "Yeah…"

She immediately dropped her eyes, "me lord! I'm sorry—I ha' no idea! Can ye ever forgive me?"

Goku frowned at her new approach to him—he had been used to servants ever since he had lived with the Briefs, but not this subservient attitude Chi-Chi was currently showing him. His first instinct was to comfort her, telling her everything would be all right, but then the enchanting scent of sweets caught his nose, "is that a pie?"

Chi-Chi nodded, "yes, sir, for dessert. Now tell me what I can do to make this up to ye."

Goku grinned at her, sitting down at the worktable in the middle of the kitchen, "well you can start by bringing me that pie."

Chi-Chi's head immediately reared up, and finding that Goku was currently grinning at her like an idiot, she found herself stammering, though she smiled, "o-of course, me Lord. I'm renowned for me pie's."

As she went to walk past him, Goku put a hand on her arm, stopping her, forcing her to look at him, "listen, Chi-Chi, please, call me Goku. You're sure to be finding me a frequent visitor to the kitchen, and I would hate for you to feel the need to stand on any sort of formality with me."

Chi-Chi gaped at him, but when Goku smiled at her, Chi-Chi's eyes lowered demurely, giving a giggle as she spoke, "as ye wish…Goku…"

Goku just grinned back, letting her go, his mouth already watering at the thought of trying some pie. "Chi-Chi, I have the feeling this could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship…"

* * *

><p>Vegeta entered Saiyan Hall much later that night, his frustration evident in every move he made as he strode to his office, in need of a stiff drink. As he entered the ducal office, he headed straight to the heavy decanter, sloshing a good amount of scotch into one of the crystal tumblers, bringing it to his mouth, tilting his head back as he rapidly finished the drink in one swift motion, before pounding it back down, pouring himself some more of the alcohol before he could even feel the warmth of the first one hitting his stomach.<p>

The night had not gone as he had planned.

Sure, he had managed his estate affairs, packed his things, prepared for an early departure tomorrow, all like he had intended—but when he had gone to the Widow's he had been sorely disappointed.

Not by the widow, of course, no—but by himself.

Vegeta scowled at that thought, before pouring himself three more fingers of scotch, pounding that back as well, before frowning as he felt the familiar burn trail down his throat. Looking at the bottle, he shrugged, and poured himself another tall glass, finishing that in one as well. Forcing himself to breath, slowly, Vegeta poured himself a fourth glass, which he took to the heavy leather sofa that lined one of his walls, sipping the liquid as he grew introspective of what had happened that night.

As he slumped on his familiar couch, Vegeta could not be more disgusted with himself. What was wrong wit him? He was Vegeta Vegeta, Duke of Vegetasei, the most sought out bachelor on the marriage market for the last five years, the seducer of married women, widows, opera singers, and courtesan's alike. No one was immune to his charms.

And yet, tonight, after the Widow had fed him an incredibly rich, delicious dinner, when they had gone up to her room so that he could get his sexual frustration out—he had found himself unwilling to do just what he had come to her to do. Which was basically bed her long and hard enough to make himself forget about the American heiress who was currently under this very roof, sleeping.

He had tried though, and had begun to kiss the Widow like he desperately wanted to do with Bulma—but had found himself completely uninterested and unwilling to do more than that. She was just wrong—the Widow's lips were not soft enough, her smell not…lilac-y enough, her body not supple enough—and Vegeta had left. The Widow had not thrown a fit, being as cool and unattached as she usually seemed to be when not in the throes of passion, her cool blue eyes glinting as she ran her hand through her platinum blonde locks, "you know where to find me if you ever change your mind."

There had been no parting shots. Both had, rather coldly, nodded at each other, and that was it. The end of the affair—just like the beginning, no pomp, no circumstance…no damn emotion to confuse the hell out of him. Why could Vegeta not be this way towards Bulma? The Widow was extremely beautiful, and had never demanded more of Vegeta than he was willing to give. Bulma, on the other hand, was constantly challenging him, forcing him to turn introspective as he seemed to only be able to think of her.

It appeared it was not just the fact that she was the only single woman on board of a ship—Vegeta had it bad for her, and he feared the only thing that would cure his desire of her would be to bed her. Which was completely out of the question, no matter what his torturous body wanted. She was currently living under his roof, and though he did not think her a virgin, she was an unmarried miss, and that, along with a whole other host of things, would make any affair with her complicated and messy.

What if they were discovered? By her brother or parents, Vegeta would probably be forced to marry the chit—whereas if his grandmother discovered the unrequited passion he felt for the American, well, hell—she would not force him to marry her, but she would make his life a living hell. Knowing his grandmother, she would probably blackmail him into doing exactly what she wanted for the rest of her life.

Vegeta shivered in fear at that thought, and finished the rest of the scotch in his glass, before he gave up entirely on the thought of getting smashed tonight, and left his office, shaking his head. He needed to go to his room, and he needed to try and get a good few hours of sleep. He left for Paris in the morning, and though the mission was not to be dangerous, one never knew what would happen in His Majesty's Secret Service. Nothing was ever certain, and all that was, was that a good nights sleep could make things a lot easier for Vegeta in the upcoming days of spying.

As he made his way up to the second level of his home, Vegeta turned to enter the west wing, trying to think about what he needed to do, who he needed to get in contact with to find this Zhelonie, when a noise from the east wing caught his attention. Turning towards the sound, but staying in the darkness, as he needed no candle to guide him around his family home, Vegeta was surprised to see a door down the hallway open, Kakarrot's form leaving one of the rooms. Vegeta frowned, knowing that he had specifically told Jeffries to have a room prepared for Kakarrot in the west wing, and stood in the dark, watching as his cousin came closer to him.

Kakarrot was whistling softly, trodding down the hallway in his dressing gown and slippers, a smile on his face as he made his way back to his own room. As Kakarrot passed him, unseeing of Vegeta, who was hiding in the shadows, Vegeta caught the whiff of lilacs, and without even processing it Vegeta immediately knew that Kakarrot had just left Bulma's room.

Vegeta's blood went beyond boiling, a red mist making it hard for Vegeta to see anything, as he felt the roar of anger rip through his body.

So they were going to carry on their affair under his roof, would they?

Right after Vegeta had been unable to find release from his sexual demons with a willing partner, the very woman he had wanted found no problem acting on her own desire with her old paramour? How dare she—did his kiss mean so little to her that she could bed another man in Vegeta's very own home?

Vegeta's first desire was to go to his cousin, who was almost to his room, and pummel him so badly that Kakarrot would have a very slim chance of living. How dare he put his hands on Bulma—she was not Kakarrot's, and never would be. But then Vegeta was overcome with the desire to enter the bedroom his cousin had just left, and to completely brand Bulma by fucking her senseless, making her scream and moan and pant his name only. She was his, dammit!

But before he moved, doing something he knew he might regret, Vegeta took control of these errant thoughts, and took ten deep breaths. When that did not seem enough, he took ten more—finally, about a hundred deep breaths later, Vegeta could move from the spot he had been frozen to since seeing Kakarrot, striding to his own room.

It seemed that even though Vegeta could not even think of touching another woman after having kissed Bulma, she did not suffer the same fate as he—that insufferable bitch.

Forget leaving bright and early tomorrow morning for France—Vegeta needed to get out, and he needed to get out now. He would get his stuff, wake Nappa, and they would be gone.

And, Vegeta promised himself, when he finally caught Zhelonie, he was going to enjoy pummeling out every ounce of his frustration, anger, and desire onto the spy that had eluded him for far too long, no matter what his orders said…

* * *

><p>AN: Phew—got through quite a lot in this chapter (too much?), but it's all relevant. There are some new characters, some new secrets let out, and some new paths for our protagonists to tread. I know there was no true Vegeta and Bulma interaction in this chapter, but I hope to make it up to you with the next few chapters!


	10. The Secret Office

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing, some sexual thoughts

A/N: I love my reviewers. I love my readers—even just seeing that little view count go up has me smiling—so even if you never review, thank you for just reading.

And for my reviewers, you make me a better writer, and I cannot thank you enough for that.

Chapter Nine: The Secret Office

Vegeta had left.

He had left.

He had left _her_.

He had left _her _without even the thought of seeing _her_, of speaking to _her_, of saying good-bye to _her_.

Bulma was pissed—not only because Vegeta had left _her_, but also because she cared that he had left _her. _

He had been under the very same roof as her (she was sure of this, for at least one day they were under the same roof, and though she had not seen him their first day in Saiyan Hall, she knew he had to be here at some point at the same time as her), and she had mattered so little to him that he had not even bothered, at any time before he had left, to seek her out, or to wave in her direction, or to even just look at her, before he had gotten on his horse and ridden off…somewhere.

Well, she actually had quite a good idea where he was, as she had snooped through his desk…well not snooped through desk…she had been looking for paper (that was her story and she was sticking to it), when she had discovered a stack of papers from Basil T. Gardening, and become engrossed in them…

But that was beside the point at the moment—Vegeta had left, and he had left without saying where he was going. She also had a pretty good idea of what he was doing because of said engrossing letters from Basil T. Gardening—but still, a whole month?

Maybe Vegeta was actually off doing…whatever it was…Duke's did. Checking on one of his numerous estates? Going to the towns he basically owned and checking on the tenants who lived there? Giving the king invaluable advice on where to invest his monies? Leading parliament in lively arguments about how the rich could get richer, while the poor got poorer? In reality, she knew he could be doing any of these things, as she was now extremely well versed in what was expected of the British Peerage.

Bulma had learned more about what exactly Duke's and Viscounts, and Earls, and Marquis', and even Baron's, did with their titles, lands and money, in the past month than she had ever really wanted too. Though Bulma had suffered through many a lesson on manners, politeness, and etiquette in the past, she had never suffered through one with a British teacher—and possibly the most unpleasant British teacher on etiquette on the whole of the isle. Bulma could just imagine the Duchess finding great pleasure in finding the sternest, least humorous, most polished teacher there could be to submit Bulma and Goku to hours and hours of torturous lessons with.

Oh Goku…poor Goku. If Bulma was suffering in these lessons, than Goku was somewhere between the seventh and eighth circles of hell during these lessons. The tutor, Mr. Shu, merely held contempt for having to teach Bulma etiquette as he recognized she knew more than she let on (especially as Bulma's pride would not let her act dumb beyond the first time he showed her something), but when it came to the Viscount Vegetasei, Mr. Shu was always ready to explode with impatience. Not that Goku was not learning…he just was learning as fast as Goku could, if that made sense.

For instance, the British system of how to address men and women with titles—it was confusing for Bulma, let alone Goku. To people Goku had just met he was Viscount or Lord Vegetasei, to those more comfortable he could be Vegetasei or Vegeta (his 'real' last name), but only to those who he was related could he be called Kakarrot. And when Goku had been foolish enough to ask when he could be called Goku or Mr. Briefs, that had earned him a hard wrapping against the knuckles with Mr. Shu's stick.

That was why, even though she detested the lessons above all else, and wished nothing more than to get out of them, and recognized Mr. Shu as nothing more than an incompetent bully, Bulma did not abandon her brother to the lessons. She even helped Goku practice everything an extra hour or so everyday, trying to rub off some of her polish off, onto him. She would have given him more time, but Goku was loath to give up his training with Krillin, especially as it was the one thing the dowager did not criticize Goku about.

When not in lessons, Bulma had too much time with her mother getting ready for the upcoming London season. There had been shops—more shops than Bulma had ever wanted to go to in such a short amount of time, which was humorous in a not-so-funny way, as Bulma usually loved shopping. But they seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time at seamstresses', milliner's, cobbler's, glove-makers—and a whole host of other shops that specialized in one tiny thing that only added to Bulma's headache as her mother instructed over and over again that Bulma needed the most up-to-date fashion's, and needed to set the trend for the upcoming season.

Mrs. Briefs had not only accepted that Bulma wanted to marry an English lord—she had whole-heartedly embraced it, telling Bulma that she was going to walk away from this season with the most eligible bachelor there would be to find in all of England. Bulma did not have the heart to tell her mother that she was pretty sure the most eligible bachelor was in fact the single Duke of Vegetasei, especially as she was not sure if Bunny Briefs would understand that Bulma would NEVER, EVER marry Vegeta. The last thing she needed was her mother to pick up some foolhardy venture to see her daughter married off to the man who was haunting her thoughts way more than was necessary.

Her mother, when not shopping, was often off to so-and-so's house, who she had known since she was a child, or had met at her first (and only) season, catching up on the Ton's gossip. Which she would than impart to her family every afternoon at tea, rather than at supper, the only other time they would gather as a family, since the dowager was always present at supper-time—usually just to scowl at the Briefs family on the whole.

It was the only time in the day they were forced to be in her presence, and, Bulma had quickly realized the dowager was not one of those crotchety elderly people who really grew on someone once they were acquainted. Behind the dowager's vulture-like (ape-like? Bulma had never really decided) exterior, did not beat a heart of gold. Bulma was starting to question whether the dowager actually had a heart…

Time not spent shopping, or in lessons, was consumed with the plans Bulma had been working on ever since she had been on the _Saiyan Lady_. She was not sure when the idea had become anything more than half-baked, but recently she had completely thrown herself into the idea of adding steam engines to ships.

She knew it was somewhat preposterous, as steam-power was still rather new, untested, and generally only used for smaller things, such as in mills, or the Briefs factories, but she saw no reason it could not be applied to putting engines in ships. The Briefs had been using steam power in new and innovative ways for years, and she only now questioned why they had never dreamed bigger and better than the simple turning of a gear.

Since her father was extremely busy updating all of the Vegetasei factories, and land holdings with the latest technology, Bulma worked by herself on this—which suited her just fine. Especially as, on her third day here, she had found the perfect room to do her experiments in. It was small, and windowless, which was exactly the privacy she needed as she worked on such hush-hush innovations. Though they were not in New York, her father had taught Bulma from a young age that there were always industry spies who were trying to steal her family's secrets, so she was always at her upmost guard before new technology was introduced to the public on the whole.

Not only that, but she was one hundred percent sure that no one else in the family, not even the dowager, knew about the room, and so Bulma was afforded hours of privacy there. If her family ever questioned where she was, they never asked her, though she was sure she could get away with saying she was working in one of the sitting rooms. No, not that one, the other one. No—the other, other one. Really, it served her purposes quite well that this house had more rooms than one knew what to do with. It made it a sight bit easier to avoid the dowager, along with everyone else, while she lost herself in working.

Which usually worked to her advantage, this being alone and such—except for moments like this, that were becoming more and more frequent as the month passed. Her thoughts were consumed with that spiky-haired life-changer—especially as she had not spoken to him since he had kissed her.

Truly, what kind of gentleman was he?

To kiss a girl, than to flee from his very own home to avoid her?

But what stung Bulma the most was the idea that he had not even fled from her. Vegeta had left without seeing her, without saying a word to her—maybe the truth of it was that he had not even thought of her. She was probably nothing more than just another girl who he had happened to kiss. He had seemed to like the kiss while he had been doing it, but he was a warm-blooded male—as she had learned from her experience with that idiot, Yamcha, it was possible to feel desire for multiple girls at the same time, without holding real feelings for some (or all) of them. Truly, if she had not been on the receiving end of such a steamy kiss from Vegeta, Bulma would not have believed such a cold blooded male, could invoke such hot feelings.

It did not mean Vegeta wanted her, though—hell, they were on a ship where she was the only eligible female. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time—he surely felt nothing for her like desire, especially as he indicated that he thought her as intelligent as a leaf. Plus, someone like the Duke of Vegetasei surely had a string of mistresses, and would find nothing of kissing some American girl.

The thought of Vegeta with some other woman, though, caused Bulma to feel slightly queasy, and a host of other unpleasant emotions—but she had learned to ignore these unwanted feelings. In fact, she found herself not thinking of him at all. Well, hardly ever. Well only once or twice…a day. But how was this her fault? She was living in his home—of course she was going to think about him!

It seemed that even though Vegeta was not physically here, his presence was everywhere around her. It was looking down at her in the portrait gallery, as his ancestors and forbearer's all stood, unsmiling, starring at her, when she passed through the room. It was in the way his grandmother lifted a brow, sardonically, when she was not pleased, an expression so like Vegeta's Bulma always felt an odd pang when the older woman did it. It was in the very smell of things whenever she passed his ducal office. And it was especially here in this office, where his handwriting covered notes, pictures, and maps that surrounded her.

Bulma had to admit that she chose this room not only for its privacy, but simply because she felt comforted knowing she was working in what was Vegeta's private space. She might not like the man (desire did not change one's base opinion of someone she found), but something about being in his office, avoiding his grandmother…well it was comforting. For reasons she refused to investigate.

Bulma sorely longed to see the real Vegeta again—not the regal and cold looking portrait that stared down at her from said portrait gallery. Not that she could explain why. She had just known that when she was with him, her whole being went into overdrive, her mind thinking of its quickest retorts, her heart hammering from anger and excitement, her body thrumming to life with fire, passion and desire for him. Since he had left, she had felt rather…empty. She had not known him long, but she was already starting to realize that everything had changed since she had met him, and not just her life…but her very self as well…

Bulma frowned into her now lukewarm coffee, and sighed, putting it down, getting back to her latest round of formulations. She was just picking up her pencil to scratch out an experiment that had not gone according to plan (how was she to know that pure oxygen would be quite so…erm…flammable), when she heard an odd click that caught her attention.

Just as she was putting the papers down, the seamless door to the office, accessible on this side only by a door handle which she saw no reason to lock, pushed open, and there, as if summoned by her errant thoughts, was Vegeta.

Her mouth went dry, her heart pounding, her body buzzing to life as she took him in. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered, and though he looked tired, beleaguered truly might be a better word, Bulma's mind went blank as she took him in greedily. It had been over a month, and she drank him in like a cool glass of lemonade on a hot summer day.

She did a once over, taking in the all-black outfit he was wearing (the black breeches hugging his legs just so that she could not help but shiver as she imagined his thighs pressed against her own once again), before she settled in on his face, where, she was almost glad to note, his mouth hung open with surprise, his handsome dark brows drawn downward as he took her in. She did not have to be a genius to figure out that he was surprised to see her there.

Bulma had so much she wanted to ask him. She wanted to know where he had been, what he had been doing, what he had been thinking when he had kissed her. Her mouth popped open, and, before she could think, she spoke with over a months worth of longing and desire as she finally asked: "Vegeta, you were in the navy, were you not?"

* * *

><p>Vegeta was still in a foul mood. A month since he had last been to Saiyan Hall, having left in the blackest of moods, and here he was coming back, still in the blackest of moods. Not that Vegeta was the sort of man who often was in a good mood, in fact his normal state of awareness seemed to hover more towards bad mood than good mood, but nothing like this. His whole life, it seemed, was crumbling around him.<p>

Nothing was going right, nothing was going to plan—not since he had gone to America to get his cousin. He had expected that to be painless, for the American who had never known about their true heritage to be extremely grateful for everything Vegeta was giving him—a title, land, money, holdings. A new life. But no—Kakarrot had proven himself to be completely unbreakable and unwilling to do just what Vegeta wanted. Sure he was here, but so was the rest of his goddamn 'real' family.

On top of that Vegeta found himself, for the first time ever, coming back from a job handed to him from Basil completely empty handed. He had only planned on spending a week or so in Paris, but he had spent the last damn month traipsing Paris, and the whole of France, looking for a whisper, a hint, a clue of just who Zhelonie was—but nothing. Not a damn thing. It seemed as if the man was nothing more than an idea put to paper. A dangerous idea put to paper that seemed to give more secrets to the Russian empire about the British than any living man could have.

Vegeta had thrown himself completely into his task, but it was all for naught—he finally was forced to come home when he realized it was running close to the beginning of the season, and he was not prepared to deal with the kind of life-long lecturing and nagging he would endure from the dowager if he was not their for the grand coming out ball they were having for Kakarrot in just under a week. Since he was forced to leave with nothing, Vegeta was in the foulest mood he could ever remember having been in.

But, if he was being honest with himself (which, he realized, he did not like doing particularly of late), the reason for his black mood, the blackest of moods he had ever been in, was because of the American heiress that took up way too much of his thoughts. She haunted him. She haunted him in a way no other woman had done before, and what was more, she teased him, tempted him, and oddest of all, distracted him from his job.

He had never been distracted from his job before.

But then again, he had never known Bulma Briefs before.

He had hoped that the last month, when he had thrown himself into his work, she would become nothing but a faded memory, his lust for her diminishing just enough so that when he finally came home and was forced to see her, she would mean nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.

Time had had the opposite effect, Vegeta had been disgusted to learn.

Every time he sat outside of a French nobleman's castle, or in a Parisian bar, or, just once, thankfully, in the sewer beneath a factory, waiting for so-and-so to appear so Vegeta could learn some information, she had come to him. Completely unbidden of course. He would see her, perfectly in his mind, her milky white skin, her shiny blue hair, those ruby red lips that begged to be kissed, and those delicious curves that seemed to haunt him most of all—and he would lose complete track of whoever he was trying to follow, or miss the vital piece of information he had been eavesdropping for.

His desire for her had become an enormous monkey on his back, following him around wherever he went. When he saw a beautiful French woman, he would feel a flash of desire—not for that particular woman, but because seeing any beautiful woman had him thinking of Bulma. After his disastrous attempt with the Widow to rid his desire of Bulma on another woman, he had not even attempted again, as he knew that if the beautiful Widow could not tempt him, no woman other than Bulma would do.

Which was not a bright prospect.

So now, here he was, sneaking in the back entrance to his damn own home, avoiding the dowager and the Briefs, in an incredibly horrible mood. Even Nappa, who was used to seeing Vegeta at his worst, had seemed incredulous at just how bad of a mood his employer was in. Not that Nappa's opinion mattered, but seeing as Nappa had been there for almost all of the last month with Vegeta, he had born the brunt of his anger, and if Vegeta was a different man, he might feel guilty for how he had treated his long time companion. But he was not, so he did not.

Vegeta pushed his thoughts from his mind, though, as he focused, with a single-minded tenacity, on getting to his inner office, where he could have a modicum of privacy and quiet. He ignored all servants as he made his way to the office, and none were foolish enough to stop him, especially as they caught the look on his face. As he entered his office, though, he was almost distracted from getting to his private room when he realized something in his office was off.

He froze, taking a look around, noticing nothing was particularly amiss, but just that the air felt…different. Changed, one could say. It did not seem as dark or oppressive in here as it usually did, but for the life of him Vegeta could not say why. His hackles were up, but since he could not see anything truly being different, Vegeta shrugged, and continued to the hidden doorway opening it quickly, swinging the door wide.

The second he was in his inner office, though, the reason for why the air was so different became abundantly clear as he stared right into the eyes of the woman he had been desperately trying to get out of his mind for the last month. His whole body froze, his mouth dropping open, as he took her in, shock with seeing her here, in this room, racing with desire through his body, as he hurriedly absorbed all of her, like this would be the last chance he would ever have to look at her. Her pale face bore dark smudges and lines under the eyes, bespeaking her tiredness, and her blue hair was sticking every which way out of her bun, as if she kept running her hands through her hair, while she had a charcoal smudge on her cheek—but she was the most goddamn stunning woman he had ever seen.

Even though she was wearing one of those practical day gowns women seemed to own in spades this century, that showed absolutely nothing to him, Vegeta's eyes were drawn to her form, and he suppressed a shudder as he saw the swell of her breasts, plumped up the ledge of the table she was currently stretching over. Though Vegeta was aware that he should be questioning how she found this room, and just what in the hell she was doing in here, he found himself utterly uncaring as the urges that had been running through him since he had first seen her had won out. _Just take her. Just go to her. NOW_.

Vegeta obeyed, crossing the room in long strides, and without thought, pulled her up to him, his mouth finding hers as he had desperately been needing to do for the past… well, ever since he met her, it seemed. She responded, at first, with a squeak, but then her body softened as well as her lips, and she responded to him eagerly, her hands coming around his neck, as she let out a sigh. He used that opportunity to sweep his tongue deep into her mouth, probing, conquering, as she moaned, arching her back, pushing her body further into his, that simple gesture blatant with invitation.

Vegeta let out a loud groan, as he broke the soul sucking kiss for just long enough to sweep his arms across the desk, papers, pencils, cups, and other auxiliary supplies crashed to the floor, as Vegeta grabbed Bulma, laying her flat on the desk. He absorbed the sight of her—her blue hair billowing around her, her eyes hooded and dark with desire, her lips plump from his kisses. She gave him a coy smile, then crooked one finger to him—that was all the enticement he needed. He pulled her back up to him for another soul-sucking kiss, as he used his hand to free himself from his pants. Once that was accomplished, he took her skirts, drawing them up, until the material no longer covered her milky, smooth legs, fumbling for the tie of her strays.

Once he got that undone, Vegeta poised himself, ready to thrust into her, when she pulled back, her blue eyes large, as she looked at him, said his name, and asked…and asked…

"…you were in the Navy, were you not?"

Vegeta was instantly drawn from the extremely charged fantasy he had just been having, feeling uncomposed for the first time since he had been a very young child. It had been so real, touching her, kissing her, feeling her—and his body had reacted accordingly.

He could only stare at Bulma for a long moment, unsure of why she was so unaffected with seeing him. The first thing he had done upon seeing her was have an intense fantasy—he was beyond hard at this moment, and the bloody woman was asking him about his time in the navy?

Vegeta gaped at her for a moment as she blinked at him, innocently, and he forced his thoughts to go to more neutral places. She had caught him unawares—in many ways. First, she had been here, here in his most private of places. Second, that fantasy he had just had about her had been too real, and was unnerving him. And thirdly—how the hell did she know about his time in the navy? No one in the Ton knew where he had disappeared too, or that he had been a commanding officer in the Navy under an assumed name.

So Vegeta forced himself to focus, back to the here and now, looking around the room waiting until his blood cooled, before he faced her, his black eyes as empty as the rest of his facial expression as he responded with the stock answer he had for just this question, "I don't know what you are referring too. As the ducal heir, I would not have been allowed in the navy—especially as it was the Vegetasei dukedom I was to inherit."

Bulma rolled her eyes at him, sighing, leaning back in the chair, denying him the view of her plumped up breasts, as she muttered, "oh please. You think men don't gossip like women do? My brother told me that he had heard from someone on your ship that you used an assumed name and entered as a scrub. No one was even aware you were the Vegetasei heir."

Vegeta felt his mouth wanting to gape open at her again, though he kept it closed this time—just how did she know that? What else did this woman know about him? Anything else he had kept hidden from the rest of the Ton that she already knew? His eyes flashed around the room, and saw that there was nothing particularly glaringly screaming that this was an undercover spies room. It could just be the room of a man who closely followed the news, and maybe in their spare time had theories about war and war criminals…no way she could figure out his other secret.

Even if the room itself was quite hidden away. Maybe she just assumed he really liked his privacy. Which he did. Which was why her presence, and her utterly inane questions were angering him more than they should have.

But Bulma had already moved on from his denial and his discomposure, and was looking at him, eagerly, "so you were in the navy, yes?"

Vegeta forced himself to stand tall, glaring at her as he crossed his arms, trying to summon all the poise he had ever had as he disdainfully evaded, "what does this have to do with anything?"

Bulma sighed, pushing her hair back, forcing another piece to draw free from her bun. Vegeta was distracted, again, when he saw the freed strand lightly bounce as it unraveled down her shoulder, past her front, curling over the tip of her breast. His mouth went dry as it settled just where his lips wanted to be, but she did not notice a thing as she flicked the piece of hair over her shoulder as if it was nothing. Vegeta, on the other hand, was gaping—he had never been jealous of a piece of hair before, but… goddammit—she was speaking again.

Once again her voice cut into his sexual thoughts, as she matter of factly pointed out, "because I don't know anyone else here who would know ships as well as you do, and I want your opinion on something I'm creating to make ships go faster."

That caught Vegeta's attention, fully stamping his lust out for the moment as he spoke slowly, his incredulity making him disparaging, "make ships go faster? What the hell are you talking about?"

Bulma stood, smiling at Vegeta, aware that her heart was hammering too damn fast for the kind of conversation they were currently having. Before he had responded to her first question about him being in the navy, the temperature in the room had gone up by quite a few degrees when Bulma had noticed how Vegeta was staring at her—as if he was a starving man and she was a five-course dinner. She had almost wanted to give herself up to him on a serving tray—though she had not a clue where that foolish fantasy had come from. Still, something about the way those dark eyes focused on her…well…

But now, as she approached him with her plans, she saw him eyeing her as if she was something distasteful he had swallowed, and no feelings of desire arose in her (well other than the ones she was already used to). That did not faze her though, as she was well used to men giving her that stare the first time they heard her speak about technology. Something about her being a female, and an heiress on top of that, usually gave people the impression that she was as airheaded as her mother seemed to be. She was not going to lie—the satisfaction she got at proving to be much smarter than people assumed—well, it gave her a delicious little thrill.

Here and now, though, Bulma suddenly wanted to prove to Vegeta, no, needed to prove to Vegeta, that she was not just another vapid heiress—for reasons other than that wanted thrill. She handed him her steam engine plans, finding her voice, "I'm not sure how much you know about steam power, even though my father is currently outfitting all of your factories with it, but I was thinking of applying it to larger ships. How this would work would be…"

As Bulma spoke, showing Vegeta more and more sketches, she felt her heart expanding as she talked about her work. Vegeta did not say much, looking at her sketches, only answering her questions about ships when she point blank asked him something. She could not tell what he was thinking, but it did not matter as the scientist in her was in full swing mode as she asked him all of those questions she had been planning to ask a harbormaster or ship-maker. Bulma lost sight of Vegeta as a man, only seeing him as a fount of information. She asked him question, ignoring the thump of her heart, the heat of his body, so close to hers, the beguiling scent that she would always recognize as his own…

Finally, when Bulma was satisfied with the answers she had gotten from him, she smiled up at him, her smile not even faltering as she saw the dark glare he was currently giving her. "Thanks Vegeta, you have no idea how useful these will be for what I'm doing."

Vegeta only stared, and she moved back to the desk, trying to ignore him, as he finally stepped further into the room, his eyes watching her carefully as she shuffled some papers around the desk, "how did you find this room?"

Bulma looked up at him, preoccupied with thoughts of her new plans, "hmm?"

He moved further into the room, and Bulma tried to suppress the warmth she felt running through her body as he glided closer and closer to her, his voice low, full of warning, "this room—it is my private study—so how did you find it? I know you were not allowed in the ducal office."

Bulma smirked at him, knowing with the Duke, the best offense was a defense. "No one told me this room was off limits," _exactly_, she left off—as it had beyond clear that this room was not to be trespassed by any of the other members of the household on her first afternoon here.

He glared at her, his face thunderous, as if he knew that she was not being one hundred percent honest, as he muttered, "well than someone should get fired."

Bulma shook her head, amused at his anger. "Don't blame the staff. I'm naturally curious, it was only a matter of time before I found this room," _and all of your secrets_, she silently added. Bulma put a hand on her hip as she looked him square in the eyes, "plus the book you have for a latch could not be more obvious."

Vegeta could not stop his mouth from opening this time, before he forced it closed, looking at her, hoping his anger was conveyed, so she could clearly understand how pissed he was, "I don't know what you mean."

Bulma rolled those blue eyes that were as beguiling as the rest of her, pushing her hair back, setting another delicious tendril free, though he was unable to follow its progress as closely as he would like, as her amused voice caught his attention, "oh please. _Pride and Prejudice_? I did not take you for a romance reader."

Vegeta glared at her, his mind whirling. When he had picked that book, it had been because he had assumed it would only be men coming in this office, and they would not look twice at the popular romance novel of the day. He had never anticipated women being in his ducal office. Dammit—he was going to have to change the book now…something even more innocuous…_A Brief History of Prussia_?

Bulma ignored his glare though, pushing some papers around, before her face lit up as she came upon a stack, "oh—I forgot to tell you."

He looked at her, unable to deal with her sudden change of conversation, as Vegeta was not even a hundred percent sure what he was supposed to be feeling about this woman being in his office. Half of him was beyond furious that she would dare enter his private space—while the other half kept telling him that they were currently in this room, alone, with no one the wiser. But he kept his composure as he answered her expectant declaration, "oh?"

Bulma held up a folder, and Vegeta forced himself to look away, trying to show how uninterested he was in what she was saying, "yeah—whoever translated this note got a few adverbs wrong." She scoffed as she flipped through the papers in her hands, shaking her head as she found the one she was looking for, "their Russian is elementary at best."

Vegeta, who had been disdainfully flicking some lint off of his dusty jacket, froze at the use of her word 'Russian,' his eyes darting to where she was holding out his secret correspondence from Basil. She was not only holding the last note he had received from Basil—but it seemed as if his whole folder on Zhelonie, as well as the rest of his correspondence from Basil, was now being perused by the woman. Rather than panic, as Vegeta was never one to panic, he just tried to affect the air of a debonair peer, shrugging his shoulders "what do you mean? That's just my gardening bill."

Bulma looked at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief, as she lifted the rest of his correspondence with Basil that dated from the last few years. She waved it in his face, as evidence, as she incredulously spoke to him, "oh please Vegeta, the code was not that hard to break. All these letters about flowers—as if a man like you would be that involved about what gets planted in your gardens. If you wanted to make the notes more conspicuous, you should have picked something about ships, or pugilism, or fencing, or anything you would actually be interested in."

Vegeta said nothing, only feeling his blood pressure rise, as he gritted out, "I am an avid gardener—you should not presume to know me!"

Bulma's eyebrow only raised higher, somehow, her disbelief clear in her voice, "oh really? Name one variety of flower that is in your garden."

Vegeta smirked at her, triumphant, about to answer her, when she cut him off before he could even draw breath, "besides rose that is."

Vegeta's smirk faltered, and he frowned, as he stared into those wide blue eyes, trying to remember the name of a flower, any flower, at that moment, "daisies."

Bulma scoffed, "as if. Vegeta—you do know those are considered a weed—and a common flower at that. There is no way there are daisies in your garden." Damn—she had him there. But she was not done, "now stop trying to act the fool—it does not suit you." She gave him a shrug and sly smile, "just accept the fact that I know you are a spy."

Vegeta's immediate response was to leap across the table, shaking her nonchalance at saying she knew he was a spy. No one, besides Nappa that was, knew he was a spy. And she was just acting as if it was an accepted fact! Rather than contradict her notion of him being a spy, though, as she had already trapped him twice today, and he knew his wits were not as sharp as they needed to be to do intellectual battle with this woman, he only asked her, between clenched teeth, "what do you mean the note was mistranslated?"

Bulma blinked at him, seemingly surprised by his lack of denial of the fact that she had just called him a spy, before she looked down at the notes in her hands, "oh—right. Well the person who translated this for you said it says: 'Agent Zhelonie is being reactivated in Paris to spy on England.' Well like I said, they got their adverbs wrong."

Vegeta stared at her, his impatience growing. How the hell was he supposed to know if they got their adverbs wrong? It was not as if Russian was a common language that was taught in England. He managed to get out, "you are trying to tell me that you know Russian?"

Bulma blinked at him, almost owlishly as she said, "of course." As if it was as simple as that, Vegeta thought. But she was not done, as she continued, "I also know Arabic, Spanish, French, Chinese, Italian, Latin, German, Greek, and some smatterings of Japanese."

Vegeta only stared at her, unbelieving, his brain having a hard time grasping the fact just how smart this…this…_woman_…truly was. When she had been showing him her plans for the ship, he could not believe at the accuracy of her drawings, or the ingenuity behind her plans. If she had not been the one explaining things to him, sketching right in front of him, altering her formula's according to what he had told her—he would never have believed a mere woman could do so much. And now she told him she spoke almost ten foreign languages?

Vegeta hated to admit it—especially about her—but he was impressed.

Not that he was ever going to let her know that. Now that he saw no reason to doubt her mastery of the Russian language, he, almost nonchalantly if he did say so himself, asked her, "so what does the real message say?"

Bulma looked down at the original Russian note, translating quickly as she spoke, "Agent Zhelonie to be reactivated _from_ Paris, _to go to_ England, to spy." She looked up, her eyes gleaming with triumph as Vegeta felt all the color leave his face, "you were in Paris this past month, looking for him, weren't you?"

Vegeta said nothing, but his stony silence was enough for Bulma as she triumphantly pumped her fist to the ceiling, "I knew it! This room, the notes everywhere, the folders you keep on different people and countries—you work for the War Offices, don't you? You are a spy, aren't you?"

Vegeta's face got even stonier, if that was possible, as he gritted out between clenched teeth, "I don't know to what you are referring to."

Bulma rolled her eyes, "oh please." When he said nothing, she shrugged, "fine—don't tell me. Keep it your secret, though I'm not sure why you would not think I would figure this out—I am a genius and all." _And modest too_, Vegeta thought, as Bulma continued, thrusting the note back to Vegeta, "just make sure to tell Basil…who I'm sure it not your boss, but is in fact your 'gardener,'" air quotes used to show just how much Bulma did not believe him, though Vegeta thought it was a tad bit overdone, as she continued, "that the note is wrong and that Zhelonie…," she looked down at the note, frowning, catching his attention, as she muttered to herself, "which is actually Russian for green, don't know how I didn't catch that earlier, oh well," she looked back up, catching Vegeta with those blue eyes, "just tell Basil, that you should be looking for Agent Green in England, not Paris." She thoughtfully stroked her chin, thinking, as she continued, "you should probably stick to London, since I can't imagine much state secrets going on outside of the capital." She shrugged again, putting the note down on the desk, as she winked at him, giving him a surprising smile, "but what would I know? I'm just a dumb girl, right? And you are most definitely not a spy, right?"

Vegeta, who was having a hell of a time keeping up with Bulma, felt his cheeks grow warm (he hated being caught off guard!) as he realized just how close she was to what he had actually been thinking of her intelligence and sex, and was about to give her a scathing reply in the negatory, when he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching his outer office, his grandmother's cane and voice loud as she yelled, "where the hell is my grandson?"

Vegeta and Bulma's eyes locked for a second, before they both looked to the secret doorway, which Vegeta had not closed upon entering the room. If the dowager entered his ducal office right now, she would know about this secret office—something neither one of them wanted to happen.

At the same time, both leapt to action, running to the bookcase door. Vegeta got there a hair of a second faster than Bulma, and right as he heard the outer office door open, he slammed it shut, not noticing that Bulma's fingers were in the way, and she let out a dismayed yell as he caught her fingers right in the doorjamb.

Vegeta, unconcerned of hurting her (the door was made of light wood, and while he knew it stung, she had not broken any fingers), but caring of the sound she was making, grabbed her, pulling her back to his front, as he covered her mouth with a large hand, as she let out a soft oomph, at being pulled to him so quickly, all of the air leaving her lungs. Bulma was still for only a moment, before she began to struggle against the imprisonment of his hand, and so his other arm went around her waist, trapping her to him like a steel band, letting her know he had no intention of letting her go as long as there were people on the other side of the now shut secret doorway.

She was a loud person in general, and though she had done much to prove she was not a complete idiot this afternoon, Vegeta did not trust her to keep her mouth shut with his grandmother only a few feet away. She might be smart enough to work out that he was a spy, but that did not mean she could be as subtle as a spy. He was starting to realize that when it came to Bulma Briefs, subtlety was a lost art.

As voices began to float through the door they were pressed against, Vegeta missed just what was being said, as it became clear that the dowager had not seen the secret door open, as they were not currently being besieged by her, demanding that they open the door. Rather than sag in relief, though, Vegeta's body became more taut with anticipation, as he realized just what sort of position he had gotten himself in to.

His arm was wrapped just right underneath the curve of Bulma's breasts, and with her pressed so closely to him, he could feel every single curve of her. If he spread the fingers of his hand even an inch—he would be touching the underside of her soft (and delectable looking) bosom. Her luscious backside, which he had truly not been admiring enough, he realized as it pressed right into him, was flush against a part of his anatomy that was stirring to life, and Vegeta was suddenly the one biting back a moan as she gave an experimental wiggle, trying to free herself.

If she did that just one more time, Vegeta realized, he would not be held accountable for his actions. Especially as his earlier fantasy of ravishing her soundly on his desk began to look more and more…appetizing.

If only he could decide whether or not he wanted her to move against him, just one more time, so he would have a reason to pull her even further to him, silencing her in more enticing ways than just holding her.

Though, since he was being honest with himself, the answer was unequivocally yes.

Dammit—he knew there was a reason he hated being honest with himself.

* * *

><p>AN: I can't seem to go too long without having Bulma and Vegeta actually interacting, can I? Well that's because they're amazingly fun to write for, and though I know we can't immediately stick them together and have them be all happily ever after (where would be the fun in that?) I can't go too long without them bickering.

Also, big-ups to the person who gave me more than enough information about steam power to turn this chapter into an actual lesson on how steam power works—and sorry that it did not make the cut. If I was bored hearing about it, you guys were going to be bored reading about it…


	11. What's Darker than Black?

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: First things first, I was going to wait to post this (polish it up a bit more), but then I realized if I waited, I would have no clue to when I would have the time to actually post it as it is the holidays, and things tend to get a bit chaotic—so you guys are getting it fresh! (Fresh meaning I apologize beforehand for mistakes, of course).

Second things second I love you all, and hope you guys have a great holidays, no matter what you are celebrating. To sound a little bit cheesy, when I'm going over what I'm thankful for, you guys (readers, reviewers) will be at the top of my list tomorrow!

Chapter Ten: What's Darker than Black?

Having just been spun against the secret doorway she had just been trying to close, Bulma's heart thundered, her ears becoming sharper than they ever had before, even as she was held against her will, her mouth covered by someone else's hand. Though she was pressed against someone else's body, with her fingers throbbing from being slammed in the secret door she was now being held against, the words of the dowager and the long-suffering Jeffries came through to her loud and clear. She had no need to strain to listen, but she had to, especially as she was afraid they had still been discovered, that the secret office was no longer a secret.

"If that damnable idiot giant that he keeps with him is back, then the Duke should be back as well! Where is he?" The squeal of the usually composed dowager should have made Bulma happy, yet instead she just squeezed her eyes, praying that the dowager had noticed nothing. The old woman had unaccountably sharp eyes, and all Bulma needed was for her private space to be discovered by that crone.

Jeffries voice was ever bland, Bulma wanting to kiss the man as he replied, "your grace, Nappa informed us that him and Vegeta split up before they returned back to London proper, both with different tasks. I am sure the Duke will be returning shortly."

"Do not pull that with me Jeffries! I need to speak to my grandson, and I need to speak to him now!" Each word was delivered with a loud thump of her cane, and Bulma winced, imagining each cane thump was getting closer to the secret entrance to this office.

Still, Jeffries answered with his most polished, polite tones, "yes ma'am. I will inform him the second he is home that you wish to speak to him."

"I will wait here, then, as he is sure to come to his office first when he gets back."

Bulma's eyes widened at that, her heart stopping. If the dowager decided to wait for Vegeta in his office, they were not going to be able to escape without her noticing. There was only one way in, and one way and one way out—not even a small window that could be slipped through. Her and Vegeta would have to wait until the old woman was called away, and, Bulma thought glumly, that might not be until suppertime, which was hours away.

"Your grace may do as she wishes—,"

The dowager cut him off, "yes I may—and it is too cold in here for someone such as myself. Why is the fire not going in the grate?"

"An oversight, your grace. Next time we will make sure that the fire is always going in this room, regardless of the fact if the Duke is in residence or not."

If Bulma were not so terrified of being caught, she would have laughed at Jeffries slight, slight sarcasm that the butler had just bestowed upon the dowager. She could almost see the dowager's eyes narrowing at Jeffries, trying to decide if she had just been insulted, but rather than reprimand him, her voice was haughty as she announced, "I will wait for the Duke in the front sitting room, closest to the door, so he cannot get past me without me knowing. Go get me some tea!"

There were some loud thumps, the sound of the dowager and her wicked cane moving further away, and than the slamming of a door shut, which caused Bulma to further tense. When the cane thumps became more distant, Bulma finally sagged in relief, trying to let out a loud breath.

Before realizing one of the reasons her breaths were so shallow was because there was a very large, very warm hand covering her mouth, and an arm wrapped tightly around her ribcage, holding her still. Bulma froze again, her body seizing up as she remembered she was not being pressed against a hard wall, but a warm, muscled, male body.

A very warm, muscled, male body, which she was suddenly picturing with perfect clarity from the day she had seen him shirtless on the deck of the _Saiyan Lady_. If she pressed back just the furthest bit, or arched her back against the arm that was holding her, she was sure she could feel the outline of those compact, golden muscles that she knew she was only separated from by some clothing.

As if reading her thoughts, she felt Vegeta shift behind her, pressing even closer, the warmth of his body seeping into hers, causing her body to soften, wanting to be enveloped by him completely. Her heart began to pound again, and her body temperature began to steadily rise as her thoughts ran away from her completely. Her skin began to feel too tight, and her breaths became even shallower as she realized just how badly she wanted, no, needed Vegeta.

Slowly Vegeta released her mouth, his hand moving down to rest on her shoulder, and his arm around her waist loosened just enough for him to move her, using his hands to turn her softly, carefully, as if she was a priceless antique. There was only a whisper of space between their two bodies, which created a delicious friction of anticipation, and when she was facing him, Vegeta's hand came out, and he nudged her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Her blue eyes were wide as she saw the fiery flow of molten passion deep in his obsidian depths, his eyes locked with hers, speaking silent messages she did not understand.

The hand that had been holding her chin, came up, tracing her jaw line, before the back of his hand smoothed over the skin of her burning cheeks, cool against her heated flesh, and she resisted the urge to purr into his hand like a kitten. His hand stopped stroking, and instead his thumb came out, and he traced the outline of her lower lip, soft as a feather. Both her eyes and his were riveted on his thumb, seemingly the only thing that existed in this galaxy.

Bulma's mouth parted, her breathing becoming jagged as his thumb exerted pressure, moving her lower lip softly, feeling her mind glaze over with want and need, as he touched her. Good God, how she wanted him to replace that torturous thumb with his lips, his tongue. She burned with the need of having him kiss her like he had on the ship, stealing her breath, making her body feel alien and pleasurable at the same time.

She wanted him like she could never remember wanting anyone before, her whole body crying out to him. Her breasts throbbed with the want of being touched, her tight peaks hardening, as if anticipating his touch. Her skin goose pimpled all over from having him standing so close—yet not close enough. And her lower body—well she had never felt this pulsing, pounding sensation before.

Her eyes shot up to his face as she heard him let out a raspy breath, as if he, too, was having problems breathing, and she was once against captured by the dark, twisted look in his eyes as he watched her reactions. He was a dangerous man, she realized suddenly—she might have been nonchalant in her declaration of him being a spy, but it scared and enticed Bulma as she imagined what else the hand that was currently caressing her had done. He had probably killed men with that skillful hand…

And that thought was enough for Bulma to shake herself out of whatever lust induced coma she had been slipping into. She instantly sobered, closing her mouth, and pushed away from Vegeta, taking a step back as he easily let go of her. She fisted her hands at her sides, not trusting herself not to reach out to him, and looked down, counting to three—better make it ten—trying to compose herself.

Finally, she looked back up, pressing the back of her hands to her still burning cheeks, cursing her incredibly white skin for making it so obvious that she was heated. Why could she not be tan like Vegeta—the only sign that he was even interested in her was in the way his dark eyes bored into her. Other than that he was perfectly composed, though she had heard the ragged breath come from his lips that spoke of something different.

Bulma, on the other hand, burned with unfulfilled need, but with humiliation, and embarrassment for acting like a mare in heat at Vegeta's mere touch. She hated him for having this strange power over her, and she hated herself for giving into whatever mastery he had over her. She was stronger than this!

Bulma tried to emulate Vegeta's icy composure as she spoke, though she could not keep her voice from being a pitch or two higher than she was used to, "I must go. I have lessons. So I must go."

Vegeta looked at her for a beat too long, his head tilted, and Bulma feared he was not going to move from the door he was standing in front of, rather that he was just going to stare at her for hours. He seemed to make a choice though, and he stepped back, opening the door for her, giving her a mocking bow as he ushered her out like he was a servant, "as the lady wishes."

Bulma, if she had been in her right mind, would have said something scathing right back to him, letting him know that she hated him. As it was, Bulma was barely in any mind at all, so she just left the office in shaky legs, uncaring of the designs she left behind as she made her way out of the office. She went up some back stairs, uncaring of being noticed by anyone (though thankfully she was not), to her room, through her private sitting room, before she finally collapsed on her bed, staring at the ceiling, unseeing of anything but those moments in the office she had shared with Vegeta.

It had never been like this with Yamcha—his kisses had always been sweet, soft, innocent, like she thought he was. The same man did not court you for years without having his lips on yours, or his hands softly stroking you through your clothes. Though Yamcha was never as bold as Vegeta had just been, Bulma thought she knew what desire was, as she had always wanted Yamcha to kiss her again, once she got used to the sensation of having someone else's lips pressed to her own.

But she had never felt this hunger for Yamcha. She had never left his kisses, or his touch, with the desire to run back to him, to press herself to him, to be absorbed by him, to become one with him. And she had loved Yamcha! What was she allowing herself to get into with the Duke?

She needed to stay away from him. She did not love him, and she was sure that if she let him ruin her (and he would, utterly, she was sure of this) that he would not be gentleman enough to ask for her hand. Nothing about the way Vegeta had treated her told her he was respectful of her as a lady, or himself as a gentleman. She could not trust that he would do the stand up thing, if he tore her down to sin with him. But, oh, what a delicious fall it would be….

But Bulma only had a few minutes to sink herself into her thoughtful depression, before she heard heavy footsteps in her sitting room, Goku's loud knock on her door shocking her, before he poked his head into her bedroom, "hey sis, come on. Mr. Shu's waiting, and you know what he gets like."

Bulma sighed, but sat up, shaking her head, as if she could shake her errant thoughts about Vegeta out of her head. She slid from the bed, frowning at Goku's always-present smile, unable to stop herself from pettily asking, "why are you in such a good mood?" As she passed him, she sniffed, her frown deepening, "and why do you smell like fresh baked bread?"

Goku just smiled as she passed him, not giving her any answer other than, "why are your cheeks so red? You're not getting sick are you, Bulma?"

Bulma was thoroughly distracted from why her brother smelled like the kitchen (as Goku had intended), and only glared at her brother as she cursed her extremely expressive face. When he just smiled sweetly at her, Bulma scowled and stormed past him, muttering under her breath about how much better her life had been when she had been an only child.

* * *

><p>Vegeta sat in a crowded bar, wishing that he was sipping brandy at White's, the preferred club of the aristocracy, rather than holding a mug of ale at this run-down pub he was currently sitting in. Vegeta detested being here, in this unclean, smelly place, but he needed to have an urgent meeting with Basil, and it would not do to meet with his contact with the war offices at a club such as White's, where literally every person knew who he was.<p>

Especially as seeing the Duke of Vegetasei speaking with anyone would sure to rouse his peer's interest as Vegeta was known as a fiercely private person who never conducted his business somewhere as public as White's. Hell the only time he even went to White's was when his residence was occupied—like it currently was, not only by the boisterous Americans, but his insufferable (and inhuman) grandmother.

But he was not just seeking sanctuary from his overcrowded home, and meetings with Basil needed to be as inauspicious as possible when they could not be conducted in the war offices. Privacy in a public setting was needed and so this was the preferred spot of his contact. It was just low class enough that no one would recognize, or try and speak to, Vegeta, but high-class enough that if anyone who knew him saw him there they would not become suspicious. They would just assume the Duke wanted to anonymously get drunk somewhere, or perhaps come down to sample the wares of the lower class women. As if Vegeta would ever lower himself to do that…

Currently, though, it served his interests that no one took real notice of what he was doing. Not as a spy, but right now, it truly served Vegeta to not be approached by anyone.

He was too…too…well if he thought he was in a black mood before, he was in a pitch-black mood now. That damn, infuriating, enraging—enticing, utterly arousing—woman! What right did she have to be in his office, to uncover his secrets, and than to not even let him kiss her, like she was so thoroughly begging him to do so?

He was torn between wanting to murder her, to ensure no one discovered the secrets she had seemingly so easily unearthed, and shackling her to his bed, so he could have her every which way he fantasized about for the past two months. He wanted to tear out this desperate need and craving he had for her inside of him, and yet, like earlier, he could not seem to stop himself from touching her, as her delicate features and wide eyes beckoned him more so than the most tutored of courtesans had ever done before.

Though, from what he had observed of her, maybe she was as experienced as the most tutored of courtesans. How many lovers was she hiding behind those wide, innocent seeming eyes? Just how practiced was that starry-eyed look, those perfectly opened lips, that demure pushing away at the last second? That thought had him scowling into his mug, lifting it to take a hefty swipe of the surprisingly delicious brew.

As he set the mug down, angrily, Vegeta was not surprised to see a man had joined him at his table, his cap thrown onto the table, though the man was carefully looking at anything other than the Duke. The man was indistinguishable from any other man, really, brown hair and facial hair, brown eyes, medium build, medium age, dressed too poor to be an aristocrat, too rich to be a commoner—nothing about him that would catch anyone's interest. Which was why he made such a good spy.

Basil gave a discrete nod, his eyes not leaving the bar wench as he motioned for a drink, quietly saying, "your Grace."

Vegeta did not both to even look at the man, making sure his face was devoid of any emotion as he answered, "Basil."

There was a silence as Basil was served, the older man smiling and winking at the bar wench ('because they expect it' he had once told Vegeta), taking a calm sip before he continued. "Your note said it was urgent, and I'm hoping after the last month you've spent it Paris, it will be good news."

Vegeta frowned, and he resisted the urge to throw the mug of ale he was holding into the crowded room in frustration. Instead he took a controlled sip before he gave Basil a stoic and clipped recounting of his time spent in Paris, and what little information he had gleaned. Basil's body language gave away nothing as Vegeta spoke, but Vegeta was aware that this man was as good at hiding what he was thinking as Vegeta was. Vegeta knew that Basil's reaction would have been the same if he had just told him he had captured Zhelonie, rather than the truth—which was that Vegeta had discovered nothing of note in Paris.

When he was done, Basil gave a nod, "well if that it is all, your Grace—."

Basil made the motion to move, but Vegeta stopped him with a quick look directly at the man, "hardly." Vegeta took another sip of ale before he continued, "I have learned that the note we intercepted for Agent Zhelonie was mistranslated."

That caught Basil's attention, and he actually looked at Vegeta, an eyebrow quirked, "mistranslated?"

Vegeta gave a grave nod, "we were looking for him in the wrong place. There were some wrong…," Vegeta's frown deepened as he remembered Bulma's flashing eyes as she had informed him of this fact, and he muttered, "adverbs, I believe…." Damn that woman for constantly interfering in his thoughts! Still, Vegeta forced himself to focus on Basil, "the note correctly translated states that Zhelonie was reactivated to spy in England, not Paris."

Basil looked thoughtful, rather than shocked, and began to stroke his beard as he murmured, "interesting. So we have been looking in the wrong areas." His eyes caught Vegeta's, a grim smile on his face, "well we have long suspected that Zhelonie moves among the Ton to gain his information, so you really need to be alert for any French noblemen…or women…who seem to be at every event. You keep yours eyes open during the season, and we will keep our ears open for any information that passes our way."

Vegeta frowned, since he usually avoided anything but the most necessary of Ton events—but he was a spy, and he had been in worse positions that at the balls, musicales, operas and other events that made up the Ton's season. He could not name any at that exact moment, but he knew there had to be some…. Vegeta noticed that Basil seemed as if he was about to leave, so Vegeta quickly spoke, "I was also informed that Zhelonie is Russian for green, though I'm not sure how important this will be to discovering Zhelonie's identity."

Basil's eyebrow quirked again, "Green, you say? How did we not catch this earlier? And how did you catch it, your Grace? I was not aware that you had learned Russian in the last month."

Vegeta frowned, hating to admit any failings, and languages were definitely a failing of his. He could make do with any of the romance languages as a well-educated English person, and of course some Latin and Greek as he had been taught in school—but he had no ear for it. Not like that blue-hared witch did. Still, Vegeta admitted to Basil, "I did not translate the note."

Basil frowned at him, though his eyes did not leave Vegeta's, "than who translated the note for you? You know how sensitive this material is, and we cannot afford you having slip ups."

Vegeta's bristled at the lack of faith Basil displayed, but he stayed calm, knowing that Basil's words were the truth. This was sensitive material, and if Bulma's retranslation had not affected the case so much, Vegeta would never have reported what had happened. The last thing he needed now was for the war office to lose faith in him. Not when he was so close…

Vegeta frowned, but admitted, "it was a houseguest of mine, who managed to find my secret office. But they have told no one else." _And they wouldn't_, Vegeta added silently, adding silencing Bulma thoroughly to his list of things to do when he got home. Though whether silencing her involved a gag, or his own mouth, was up for debate at the moment.

Basil gave a curt nod, knowing that Vegeta would not leave anything such as their correspondence lying out in unsecure spaces. "Someone found out about your inner office, hmm? Was it Dr. Briefs?"

Vegeta frowned, not sure why he was surprised that Basil knew the Briefs' were currently staying in his Mayfair residence. It might be a secret to the rest of the Ton, but Basil would not be worth his salt as the director of spies for His Majesty's Secret Service if he did not already know this. Still it irked Vegeta, especially as he had to admit, tersely, "it was his daughter." Vegeta stopped, before he continued on, hating every word that passed out of his lips, "she is a fairly accomplished scientist, and she speaks ten different languages, Russian included."

Basil's eyes lit up with interest, the first real spark of emotion Vegeta could remember having seen from the other man, "the American heiress?" He stroked his beard again, as he looked away, thinking, "…speaks ten different languages, you say?" Basil's eyes moved back to Vegeta's, "do you think we could recruit her to our side?"

Vegeta's head snapped to Basil's at that moment, and he barely controlled the urge to spray the gulp of ale he had just taken all over the man's face. As it was, he gave a rather strangled reply, as he felt half of his ale go down his windpipe as he got out, "recruit her? To spy?"

Basil nodded, thoughtful, "you say she discovered your secret office, and translated a note we had mistranslated—and she has not informed any one else of what she has found?"

Vegeta begrudgingly shook his head, and Basil smirked, "sounds like someone we need on our side."

Vegeta's frown was back in place, feeling as if this meeting was spiraling out of control. "Miss Briefs would make a horrible spy. She is loud, abrupt, and I guarantee she cannot go anywhere unnoticed."

Basil looked away, shaking his head at what Vegeta said, "your Grace, I fear your judgment is being clouded by personal prejudice. She is a scientist, and an inventor if I remember correctly, who can speak ten different languages. It is only a matter of time before someone decides to recruit her to their side, and it should be us who gets her. Ensure this, your Grace—start her as a translator, to see if we can truly trust her."

Vegeta was frowning so deeply, his cheeks were beginning to hurt. He could not help but continue to poke at the sore that was this conversation, refusing to give in to Basil's wishes, "but she is an American. And a woman."

Basil finished the rest of his ale, setting it down, as he stood, leaving some coins at his table, before he turned to look at Vegeta, "and we have had little to no success with finding Zhelonie, or Green, and I am worried about what the Russians are planning. They've been eyeing our interests in central Asia too closely for my liking, and I do not trust the Cold family. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Basil replaced his cap, turning to go, before he slyly said over his shoulder, "you should know better than anyone that anyone can be a spy. Now see if you can recruit her to our side, your Grace, and send me a missive as soon as she answers."

Vegeta knew his face soured at that entreaty, but he only nodded, and then Basil was gone, leaving Vegeta to scowl into his empty ale mug.

* * *

><p>Vegeta, upon returning home, with his brand new mission to recruit the last person on Earth he even wanted to see (unless she was naked and writhing underneath him that was), found himself entering the house through the back gardens. Just because he was in a snit, did not mean he did not remember his grandmother's earlier proclamation that she would be waiting for him in the front sitting room. Hell if he was going to actually let her surprise him (aka ambush him) when he first got home.<p>

As he traveled the long way around his house, though, Vegeta was distracted from his already distracting thoughts, as the familiar sounds of a fight caught his interest. He traversed through his gardens (reluctant to admit he could damn well name every flower in this garden, just not when Bulma was questioning him on it), until he came upon the scene of his cousin, and that bald midget, surrounded by some of the stable hands, as they sparred. They were smart in choosing their spot—they were far enough from the house to not be observed, but also taking advantage of Saiyan Hall's deep gardens to be out of the view of nosy neighbors as well.

Vegeta stopped, just stopped, watching them, and then, unaware that he was doing so, he began to crack his knuckles.

This.

This was exactly what he needed.

To beat the tar out of his cousin, or even that bald midget—just to prove to everyone (but mostly himself) that he still had mastery over one piece of his life. He needed to prove that just because he was only lusting after one woman, and that he was not-failing (but not-succeeding) at the one job he always succeeded at, and that he felt like everything in his life was beyond his control, that he would always be the best at this—fighting. He had been born a fighter, he would die a fighter, and hell if anyone on this Earth could best him.

As he observed the American pair fight for a few moments, Vegeta tugged off his outerwear, leaving on only his breeches, and boots, the rest of his restraining clothing lost to the primal urge that surged through Vegeta's blood to fight. It rode through his veins, like the lust he felt for that blue haired witch, a blood lust to prove dominance over the other males in his life, to see them submit to his mastery, to hear bones cracking, to taste blood, and to leave nothing but battered and bruised bodies in his wake.

This was why he had done so well in the Navy—when this blood lust surged through him, Vegeta was a cold, calculated killing machine. Sometimes he envied those who were in the army, those who got to kill men on the field daily, the bodies of their enemies falling directly before them—but then he would remember the delight and victory he felt the first time he had sent one of Bonaparte's ships to rest at the bottom of the sea, or the first time he had successfully boarded a ship, plunging his sword through the heart of the captain—and he would know he had made the right choice in joining the Navy.

Vegeta watched the fight, distracted by his own need to jump in, but waited until his cousin had finally bested the smaller man, frowning as Kakarrot smiled and laughed as he helped the bald midget up from the ground. "Good job Krillin! You're really picking up on that new defense! Master Roshi would be so proud!"

The midget looked ashamed, his cheeks red as he looked down, kicking a stone "ah, you think Goku? I'm just lucky you didn't completely embarrass me in front of this crowd."

The men watching tittered, before going back to passing money around, Vegeta noted with interest. So his men were betting on these sparring matches? These workers were paid well, Vegeta saw that all in his employ were never left wanting, but to actually have some money on them? These fights must be a semi-regular occurrence if his men knew where and when to bring their wages to bet on the fighters.

Vegeta saw that Kakarrot and Krillin were just standing there talking, and so Vegeta took the general ease between the men as his cue, leaving the tree he had been standing beside, walking into the circle. As he reached its center, whatever chatter that had been going on, stopped, and Vegeta smirked, glad to see that some people still reacted appropriately upon seeing him.

Kakarrot had yet to notice him yet, though, as he was correcting the other American's stance, before throwing a jab, but that did not deter Vegeta as he barked, "Kakarrot."

Kakarrot turned, his smile fading as he noticed Vegeta. Vegeta smirked at him, "care to have a real challenge, now that you're done toying with that American?"

Kakarrot's lips turned down at the corners, a frown at Vegeta's words—but Vegeta did not miss the interest in Kakarrot's eyes, or the way he began to crack his knuckles. Some things just ran through people's blood, and for the Vegeta's, it would be fighting. He could practically feel Kakarrot weighing the pro and cons of fighting Vegeta, but knew that his cousin would be unable to resist a real challenge.

Rather than taunt Vegeta back, as was custom with most fighters, Kakarrot nodded, gravely, but added, with a hint of warning, "don't underestimate me though, Vegeta. I am on land again, and whatever advantage you had on me over the ship is gone."

Vegeta's blood turned hot with the promise of a real fight, but he only nodded, ignoring Kakarrot's words. Land or sea, Vegeta would not be outmatched. He had bested Kakarrot once—he would best him again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Vegeta noticed that Nappa had joined the fray, the bald giant standing out above everyone else. As he looked to his man, Vegeta saw the men watching with the exchange with interest, more money being exchanged, and he smirked. He hoped his men were not foolish enough to bet against him. They would soon be losing their money if they did.

Kakarrot turned to face him then, and Vegeta got into stance, making sure that Kakarrot's bald friend was out of the makeshift ring, catching Nappa's eye, as he gave one of their many signals. He gave Vegeta a small nod, an unspoken question of whether or not Vegeta needed help, and Vegeta frowned as he shook his head. What was this insolence? He was just fighting a man he had already beaten—he did not need anyone's help.

When he looked back at Kakarrot, he was surprised to see he had not shifted position, still facing Vegeta, all of his defenses left open, though he gave a sly smile as he nodded, "I'm ready to start whenever you are. Why don't you take the first hit?"

Vegeta's wounded pride did not take even the slightest hit well right now, and Vegeta could not help but growl out, "you insolent little whelp," as he charged his cousin.

But Vegeta was surprised. Kakarrot easy sidestepped him, and delivered a blow to Vegeta's back, sending him stumbling. Vegeta quickly righted himself, the pain unnoticed as he sent a wide-eyed stared to his cousin, who only stared over his shoulder, curiously watching Vegeta. Vegeta's rage overcame him again, and he let out a yell as he charged—but he missed his mark again, and Vegeta instead felt Kakarrot's fist in his stomach.

Vegeta stumbled away, the air gone from his lungs, as he sent another look back at Kakarrot, who calmly just stood there. Vegeta's anger prompted him to attack again—but Vegeta was a good fighter because he was a smart fighter. He was currently underestimating his opponent, and charging in, letting his emotions guide him—two things any seasoned fighter knew were sure to get themselves beaten. So instead Vegeta calmly circled Kakarrot, taking his time as he stalked around him, before he sent out a few exploratory jabs, watching how Kakarrot reacted.

His cousin was better than Vegeta had originally given him credit for. Vegeta was a fast fighter, skillful—but Kakarrot brimmed with a natural ability to fight, his larger size not deterring his speed, nor the powerful way his punches hit their mark. Vegeta could not sense his weakness in fighting, just then, but after gaining a better sense of Kakarrot, Vegeta smirked, stepping back, wiping the sweat from his brow.

Kakarrot only smiled at him, as if understanding what Vegeta had just been doing, "are you ready to really fight now?"

Vegeta, who felt his anger and pride roaring to completely obliterate his cousin, only answered with a smirk, "only if you think you are truly ready for me."

Kakarrot chuckled, before he nodded, "prove it."

This time, when Vegeta charged, he anticipated where Kakarrot would be, rather than where he was, and made sure his right hook caught him right at the side of the head. Kakarrot hit the ground hard, but bounced up rather quickly, a smile on his face, "good—I was afraid this was going to be another boring fight."

Vegeta smirked, his fists back up as Kakarrot finally took a fighting stance, "against me? You have much to learn."

Vegeta was surprised when Kakarrot reacted with another chuckle, before he attacked Vegeta. This time, there were no words exchanged—only glances, and blows. The two men tested each other, constantly changing who had the upper hand, constantly forcing the other into the crowd of men, Vegeta unnoticing of how large the circle had grown, losing himself in the challenge of a real fight—something he had not had in a long time. Not since his days in the field as a member of the navy.

Vegeta lost all track of time, all sense of who was there, or where they were, only delighting in the physical exertion and satisfaction he took in a real fight. Kakarrot gave as good as he got, and before long him and his cousin were covered with bruises, welts, and other physical testaments to their fight. It was not until Vegeta noticed the shadows growing long, that he finally pushed himself further, surprising Kakarrot with an upper-cut, before giving him a satisfying right-hook, the loud thwack of fist meeting skin heralding Kakarrot's twisted fall, his body hitting the ground, hard.

Vegeta felt momentary satisfaction at having knocked his cousin down, but only momentary, as Kakarrot was back on his feet in a few seconds, ready to fight again, much like an over-eager puppy. Vegeta held his hand up, though, his authority brimming through as he said in a stern voice, "enough." There was a collective groan from the crowd, but Vegeta ignored it, and the inner voice inside of him, demanding he demolish Kakarrot, instead walking over to Kakarrot, speaking softly enough so that only he would hear, "we have supper in little over an hour, and you and I both have some bruises to cover before we meet with the dowager."

As the grumbles of the men watching the fight reached his ears, Vegeta ignored them as he saw a flash of kinship cross through Kakarrot's eyes at Vegeta's words. These two men had little to nothing in common besides their blood, and their very selves were so different than the other that Vegeta had given up all hope of feeling a bond with this man. But right then, after the way they had matched almost punch for punch, and then the shared recognition of their dislike of the dowager—Vegeta felt a flash of connection to his long-lost cousin.

He expected Kakarrot to say something, to ruin the shared camaraderie they felt, but was instead delighted when Kakarrot only nodded, before he turned, finding his bald friend, leaving the gardens. Nappa was at his side almost instantly, Vegeta's discarded clothes being held out to him. Vegeta shrugged back into this shirt, but declined the rest, instead watching his retreating cousins back, thoughtful.

Nappa spoke, his voice gruff, "maybe we did not make a mistake in bringing him here."

Vegeta thought of the plans he still had in store for his cousin, and what had happened here today, giving a slight nod, his answer a soft, "perhaps not…"

* * *

><p>AN: What plans does Vegeta have in store for Goku? What is he so close to accomplishing that Vegeta does not want to lose his job at as a spy? Only time will tell, really (sorry!).


	12. Gardening Advice

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: This story has not been abandoned—I promise! December is always just a crazy month for me, and I knew I wouldn't be able to put up a chapter until January. But don't worry—even when I couldn't get to a computer, I would write down ideas/scenarios for the upcoming story. Sorry this chapter is shorter; I just wanted you guys to know that I still have big things ahead for Bulma and her Dark Duke, Vegeta!

Thank you to everyone who is still reading this, and big thank you to my reviewers. You have no idea what the power of a good review can do to me!

Chapter Eleven: Gardening Advice

After Bulma's…odd…encounter with Vegeta the afternoon of his arrival back in London, Bulma had done the honorable thing—by hiding in her room. Bulma was no fool, and she knew that Vegeta had plenty of reasons to be mad at her—what with her figuring out he was a spy and showing him that he had just spent a whole month in Paris for no reason thing (things?).

But if Bulma was being honest with herself (and why not, since she really was her only company for these last few days), she was avoiding Vegeta (and everyone else) so she would not have to face that moment in the office when her and Vegeta had just felt so…so…connected.

How was it that that this man she hated could get her feelings so aroused? It was like he made everything inside of her sharpened—what sort of connection could they have? As a scientist, she could not fathom what about him set her off—but as a woman, she could guess what her hormones were doing to her. She just wished she could ignore the way his face, or touch (especially his touch) haunted her when she least wanted it to.

But Bulma did not allow herself much time to agonize over those moments like a heroine in a gothic novel was wont to do, or, if she was going to continue to be honest with herself, like she had done back on the ship. No—she had better things to do than to sit in her room, moping about, questioning her questionable feelings for the Duke. She had work to do, dammit!

So Bulma had snuck back to the secret office when she had known it would be empty, retrieving all of her things, moving them to the sitting room of her bedroom suite, and had not left her room since then, throwing herself into her work. Bulma was extremely good at losing herself in her work, especially when she was trying to avoid thinking about something, and she worked at a frenetic pace.

She barely slept, she hardly ate, and she never left her suite—but she was close! So damn close. What, with all of the help Vegeta had given her, she was now almost ready to move on to the testing phases of her design for a steam powered engine. She just needed to figure out what would burn the longest and hottest—her experiments with some flammable materials in her sitting room had ended with scorch marks over the ceilings of Saiyan Hall—that she was not going to apologize for. The Vegetasei's wealth was vast enough to make the Briefs look like simply upper class—the last thing she was worried about was repainting the ceiling.

But she had narrowed it down to coal and wood, and was starting to realize that while wood might burn faster quicker, it also burned out more rapidly. It was hardly feasible to carry around tons of wood when at least half as much coal would produce the same amount of heat, though it did take longer…still. She was close, and she knew her experiments with models and real size ships would make all the difference in the world.

After six days of being locked in her room, though, refusing to see anyone but her maid, Bulma realized she had run out of work to do, and knew that she would now have to face society. The debut ball was tomorrow night (her first real foray into society!), and Bulma still had steps to take to ensure that Goku's debut would go smoothly. Especially as the dowager had sent her an acridly written note informing Bulma that if she did not come down for supper with the family tonight, she would postpone Bulma's debut and ship her right back to America, Kakarrot's deal with Vegeta be damned.

Horrid woman!

But it had worked. Bulma knew that even though she had left her brother at the mercy of Mr. Shu these past few days, she could not leave him to face the best of London society on his own. Goku and social graces just never mixed quite right. So she would make her way down for dinner, and put all of her personal feelings about the man whose house they were staying in back in the apartment she was leaving. She would also put on the proudest face she could, to shove it in the dowager's face that Bulma was a lady and that she had manners—goddammit!

So Bulma kept her head held high and her shoulders back as she made her way down the stairs, heading to the parlor where she knew the family always congregated before dinner. She took a deep breath before she entered, but then plastered a smile on her face, her eyes darting around the room as she observed all that was around her.

She was not sure if it was disappointment or relief that flooded her when she was informed by the dowager that the Duke would not be joining them for supper tonight, as he rarely did, as he spent supper time in his club, like most noble men of the gentry (pointed look to Goku) did.

Bulma just ignored her, and joined her family, who did not bat an eye at her disappearance. They were too used to Bulma getting into work mode to be surprised by her decision to stay secluded in her room rather than face them. Which worked, as they helped her get through the dowagers pestering questions, though Bulma left the family dinner with the strong impression that the dowager considered her an oddity indeed, and did not have high hopes for Bulma's marriage prospects.

Mainly because the dowager had looked her in the eyes right after the soup course and said, "you are an oddity, Miss Briefs, and I do not hold high hopes for you making a good match this season. You would do well to accept any proposal you get."

Bulma was going to inform the dowager that she had already received four proposals in her past seasons, and she had rejected each and everyone of them, though they had been from good families, with strong financial holdings—but the dowager had then turned to Kakarrot to berate him about something, and Bulma had realized it would not be worth the air it would take to breath to talk to the dowager. Especially as the older woman would be sure to find flaws with those who had proposed, or make it seem as if Bulma was only proposed to out of novelty. Bulma needed to conserve her energy (and her wits) for the debut tomorrow night. Not waste them in some pointless battle with an aging monster.

After dinner, the dowager had decided to retire early, but both Bulma and Goku had been surprised when both of their parents had stayed up late with them, playing whist as a family, long into the night. It was not until Mrs. Briefs was standing up, yawning, that it had become clear why they had decided to stay up with their children, rather than go to bed early as they usually did.

Mrs. Briefs had surprised both Bulma and Goku by grabbing their hands, and squeezing them, her eyes tearing as she said, "I just have a feeling that this might be one of the last times that it will be just us four as a family, and I want to savor it. Before we lose Goku forever to these Vegeta's, or Bulma to a rich English lord."

She had then started crying in earnest, and fled from the room before Bulma or Goku could respond. Dr. Briefs had looked like he had wanted to say something, but he had instead settled for ruffling Goku's hair, and awkwardly patting Bulma on the back before leaving the room, leaving Bulma and Goku to stare at each other in silent wonder for a few moments.

Goku blinked slowly, a few times, before he quirked his head, breaking the stillness of the moment, "do you think they're right?"

Bulma stared at her brother, still contemplative of their parents somber mood, "what do you mean?"

Goku looked at her, tapping his fingers on the card table, a small frown marring his face. "Do you really think this might be one of the last times we get to be a family like this?"

Bulma frowned, wishing she could say no, not a chance in hell, but she shrugged, too smart to assume life would ever go back to normal. "You're here for life it seems, and now that I'm not marrying Yamcha, I suppose I could find a match here in England. Mom and Dad would still go back to the states—there are too many interests of Capsule Corporation in the states for dad to live here. We'd still be close, but it won't be like it was before all this."

Goku looked solemn, nodding, before a grin spread on his face, "well we'll just have to get really good at writing each other letters, won't we?" Bulma chuckled, shaking her head as she thought of Goku's abysmal handwriting, and smiled as he continued, slinging an arm around her, "and you know if you do marry someone here in England, I will always be at your side!

Bulma smirked, before sticking her tongue out, snuggling into his arm for a second, "you're assuming I want you by my side as much as possible!"

Goku laughed, before grabbing her in a long bear hug, holding her close to him, before he let go suddenly, standing. She just smiled at him, knowing that her brother did not do emotions well, and had never had to truly say goodbye before. So she changed the subject, smiling, trying to pretend the heavy moments of before had not happened. "You coming to my room tonight, youngin'?"

Goku shook his head, "not tonight sis. We have an extremely long day ahead of us tomorrow." He turned to go, but stopped, smiling as he said back to her, "don't stay up too much later, all right?"

Bulma nodded, but did not move as she watched her brother leave the room. She sat, absentmindedly shuffling the cards she still held, and thought about what her mother and brother had said. Times were changing—there was no doubt about that, but it seemed to be just hitting her, solidly in her chest, that there would be no going back to her old life. Never again would it be her, Goku, and their parents. Something shifted deep in her chest at that thought, while her throat became constricted, hot tears prickling the back of her eyes, even as she continued to think on the subject.

If Bulma married someone in England, she would stay here while their parents went home, and if she married someone in America, there was no way they would live as close as Yamcha had, and she would move far away from her home. Even if she did not get married, Goku would never be allowed to come back with the family to America, and what had once been a happy foursome, would be back to just a boring trio. Goku's home in America no longer existed.

This was his home now…

Bulma felt the tears threatening to spill, and was about to give into the strange desire she had to cry, when she heard a deep voice behind her, "are you playing solitaire, or may I join you for a hand?"

Bulma, who had been on the verge of an uncharacteristic emotional breakdown, felt her spine straighten, the tears evaporating instantly as she heard that voice. She recognized it before she turned, but she still turned towards the sound, her heart beat quickening as she noticed Vegeta standing in the doorway to the drawing room.

Whatever sadness she had felt was replaced with curiosity, and anxiety as she took him in, as he calmly looked right back at her. Vegeta was still in his outer coat and beaver, belying the fact that he had just arrived home, and Bulma wondered if he had come here looking for her. Though what he could want to do with her was beyond Bulma (literally beyond her, as she refused to let herself consider why he wanted to find her).

Bulma gulped as she realized her thoughts were getting away from her, and looked back to Vegeta, trying to read his implacable face, as she continued to shuffle. Her options were to either bolt from the room, or to sit, playing him in a hand of cards.

Considering the last time they had seen each other Bulma had shown that she knew all about his secret life, discovered his secret office, and that, on top of that, revealed he had spent all of the last month gallivanting around France when he should have been gallivanting around here (but really, how horrible could that be), Bulma was expecting anger from him.

But looking at him, she only saw his usual calm deference, the detachment she had come to expect from him. No anger, not even a hint of the annoyance he had shown towards her every other time they had been together. She was tempted to see what he wanted from her—there could be no mistaking that he wanted to talk to her, and Bulma could only guess that it was because he wanted something from her. What other reason would he have to search her out, and engage her, when it was a well known fact, in all of London apparently, that the Duke of Vegetasei never sought anyone out?

Before she could over think it, Bulma nodded to the chair Goku had just vacated, and started to shuffle the cards in earnest, ignoring the way his dark eyes followed her hands as she shuffled and dealt the cards as he took off his coat and hat, sitting. Silence reigned as Bulma set them up for a two-person game of double dummy whist, setting out two piles for the imaginary partners they were playing with, dealing the deck out to themselves as well.

The silence stretched as they played their first few rounds, Bulma's nerves growing as taut as a bowstring as her curiosity at Vegeta's intrusion into the room (though could it really be called an intrusion if it was his house?), and his desire to play a hand of cards with her. She got the feeling he was sensing her out at the same time she was trying to get a read on him, but that only confused her. Bulma had always considered herself an open book, except for when it came to her inventions, but she doubted Vegeta wanted to ask her about her inventions.

Vegeta kept his eyes on his cards, though he was intimately aware of every little move the woman at the table was making. She was nervous—it was beyond obvious in the way she held herself, or constantly tapped her fingers on the table, her eyes flitting constantly to his face. If he were stupid he would assume she just had a horrible card playing face, but he knew it was because she was nervous about what he wanted from her. Good. Let her be nervous. He had waited six days to have this conversation with her. What would a few extra minutes of silence, which he had discovered was pure torture to the blue-haired inventor, really do to him?

Especially as everyday he had not spoken to her, he had grown angrier. He had seriously been contemplating barging into her room to have the conversation with her Basil had ordered he have, but Vegeta was no fool. He knew that if he was anywhere near a bedroom with her, he would not be able to control himself. Which would only lead to outrage (and so much passion) on her part, and the adamant refusal of any favor he would ask of her. So he had waited, expecting her to show herself at the family teatime, or any other time really.

He would have been more concerned for her health, but he had learned from eavesdropping on her family that this was par for the course for Bulma when she was on the verge of a technological breakthrough. Locking herself in her room, refusing to eat, etc, etc. Vegeta almost admired her dedication, but instead he was frustrated at her horrible, horrible timing.

Not that he had not been busy over this last week—he had a lot ahead of him, and not just the regular English season or a regular Duke who served in the house of lords or even as a regular cousin who took delight in sparring daily with his other family member. His duty to his majesty was requiring him to keep his eyes and ears wider than ever, looking for Zhelonie (or Green, or whoever he was), spending much more time at his club and other small society events that he wanted or needed to attend. Once the season started in full, he was going to have to attend more events than he usually did, as Basil strongly suspected that Zhelonie would move along the top tiers of English society.

It was going to be a busy season, indeed.

Vegeta played another hand, his eyes finally drifting up to his opponent, who looked so full of energy, he was sure she was going to burst. He delighted in making her nervous, but also frowned, knowing he needed to speed this meeting along. He had no intention of ravishing her, and yet his resolve was weakening every second they sat here, virtually unchaperoned (and he paid his servants well enough to know they would not gossip if anything untoward did occur).

Especially as her nervousness was making her cheeks flush red, her lower lip slightly swollen from the way she kept sucking on it or biting it. Did she do this knowing how provocative it was? He had not seen her in a week, and though he knew she was beautiful, it was like he truly had forgotten the effect her looks had on him.

But he needed to focus, and ignore the fact that he was extremely attracted to the American sitting across from him at the table. It was time to end this self-inflicted torture, and he would do so by telling her what he wanted. But in his own way, of course.

When Bulma finally thought that the widening silence could not get any worse, Vegeta spoke, casually, as he laid his cards on the table, "I spoke to Basil about what you said."

Bulma was shocked by where this topic of conversation had headed (not expecting to hear about the spy business!), but she resisted the urge to smirk as she too-casually said, "your gardener? About planting begonias in the springtime being all wrong for your garden?"

Bulma did not have to look up to read the astonishment in Vegeta's eyes, and she could almost read his thoughts even with her head down. Yes, she had cracked the code that Basil had sent all of his notes to Vegeta in, but he had not expected her to have it memorized. Hello, she was a genius! Of course she was going to remember it!

She heard an audible swallow, and she wondered what comment was going unsaid as Vegeta instead answered with, "yes. The begonia's were all wrong."

Bulma smiled sweetly as she looked at him through lowered lashes, "did you tell him I recommended lily's, instead? They are an infinitely better flower, would you not agree?"

Vegeta frowned at her for just an instance, before he made his face implacable again. "Indeed." He waited until he played another card, before he continued, swallowing hard before he spoke again. "Basil has requested your help with other gardening questions he has. He finds that your ability to…read between the lines, for not only British fauna, but foreign ones as well…has made you a great ally. Or so he hopes."

Bulma looked up from her cards, shocked at what he was asking her. She stared at Vegeta hard, trying to read every tick, but finding a stony facade, as per usual, as she slowly answered him, trying to get a read on him, "Basil has asked me to join his…enterprises in gardening?" Vegeta frowned at her phrasing, but gave a nod, his silence speaking volumes. Bulma relaxed as she thought about the offer, before looking down at her cards for a second, before she casually looked back up, "and you do not agree?"

Vegeta looked up at her, sharply, but he did not hold her eyes for long before he went back to playing his next hand, shrugging, "it is not my place to agree or disagree with Basil." Vegeta paused, and seemingly unable to stop himself, added, "though I did inform him you might not have the right sensibilities or sensitivity that is required for the job."

Bulma saw red at Vegeta's words, knowing that his opinion of her fell relatively low, but still finding it hurtful for some reason to know he thought so little of her character to speak ill of her to others. In a spiteful mood, Bulma answered low, and slowly, "well you are obviously not the person I need to speak to about gardening, as you have proven to be led down the wrong path, quite easily, it seems."

Vegeta's eyes met her own, sharp, again, and Bulma felt the anger seething off of him. Still, she admired his cool, as he calmly blinked, before he looked back down, "I shall inform Basil that you do not have much advice then, and that he should look elsewhere."

Bulma chuckled, drawing his eyes, as she played her trump card, effectively ending the game, as she leant back in her chair, her anger making this decision easy, "_au contraire_, Vegeta. I would love to help Basil with his gardening prospects. But I have some…requests."

Vegeta's jaw clenched (in anger, she was sure), but still, he nodded, "I will pass them on to Basil."

Bulma waved her hand, dismissing this, "there is no need, as they all relate to you." Vegeta's eyes grew a fraction wider, and Bulma chuckled again, "do not look so afraid. They are not much."

Vegeta eyed her suspiciously, for a long time, as if weighing his options. In the end, Bulma saw that his need to report positively to his superior, or whatever Basil was, won out, as he waved his hand, prompting her on. "Proceed."

Bulma smiled sweetly as she held up three of her fingers, "one, and most importantly—I get to use the Saiyan Lady, or one of your other ships, in my steam engine experiment. I am currently in the testing phases, and after a few test runs on smaller ships, I want to try it on a real, life-sized boat."

Vegeta's eyes grew wide, narrowing again as he answered, "not the Saiyan Lady." He swallowed, hard, again, before adding, "you can use any of my other ships though."

Bulma nodded, smiling, "agreed." She held up her second finger, "second, I get to ask you three questions, and you have to answer them truthfully."

Vegeta grew solemn, staring at her, before asking softly, "how will you know if I tell the truth?"

Bulma shrugged, "I won't. But I'm betting your honor won't let you not answer my questions wrong once you have given your word to answer them truthfully."

Vegeta frowned, but he nodded, adding a surprising stipulation, "for every question I answer truthfully, you have to answer one of mine just as truthfully."

Bulma nodded, "fine. I have nothing to hide."

Vegeta's frown disappeared, an eyebrow rising, "everyone has something to hide."

Bulma quirked her head, momentarily transfixed by how seductive a raised eyebrow could be, but then she shook her head, deciding to continue, "and thirdly…" She paused as she thought of how she wanted to phrase this. She considered going the blunt root, but instead she wimped out, and simply told him, "no more inappropriate situations should arise between us."

Vegeta stopped moving for a second, before a slow smirk quirked one of his lips upwards, "inappropriate situations? Care to expound on that? I find myself quite lost as to what you mean."

Bulma glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest as she saw the familiar spark in his eyes, "no, I would not care to, especially as I know that you know exactly to what I am referring to. I am looking for a husband, not a lover, and to tell you the truth, I do not wish to find either with you."

Vegeta looked as if he wanted to contradict that, but instead he gave a rather gracious nod, "I will not put you in any…inappropriate situations then. Though this might deem as one, since you and I are alone in a room, with nary a chaperone in sight."

Bulma glared at him, standing, ready to quit this whole bizarre encounter, "then I should bid you goodnight. I will expect the requests from Basil to come to me directly, and I will also expect for you to tell me what ship I can work on by the end of this week."

Vegeta stood as she did, and gave a mocking bow at her, "as the lady desires." His eyes met her own, and Bulma felt something rather hot slither through her at that look, "though I doubt the lady knows just what it is she is desiring…"

Bulma only gulped.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm always afraid of having Vegeta speak too much, as it seems rather out of character for him. But that's the hard/fun part about writing him as a romance hero—they need to speak. Smoldering glances and silent eyebrow raises only get you so far…

Next up—the debut ball! New characters, new developments—overall fun times for us all, I hope.


	13. The Vegetasei Ball Omnibus

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: You ever just start writing, and you can't stop? Yeah, this was how that chapter was—I could not stop once I started (hence the fastness of my posting a new chapter). All of your good will towards my last chapter helped, of course, so big, big thanks to all of my readers and reviewers! I love you guys.

I especially love my new beta reader lilpumpkingirl! If you were wondering why this chapter was so much smoother and easier to read, all thanks go to her! She seriously understands I have a penchant for comma's, and she tried to help me wean off them (I'll get better, I promise!)

And now for something completely different (to quote my favorite sketch show of all time)…

Chapter Twelve: The Vegetasei Ball Omnibus

Tsesarevich Frieza was acting calm, more than his usual unusual calm, causing the men who were with him in the room to feel nervous, more nervous than usual. Those who had traveled the vast distances from Moscow to the French border of the English Channel with Frieza were among those who could claim to know him best (though one would be foolish to claim that they _knew_ Frieza), and they knew now, looking at him at the head of the long dining table they were sitting at, that they should be nervous. Even if he was only quietly surveying the glass of wine he was holding, his black lips pursing as he twirled the glass, studying the dark liquid inside of it.

Frieza's eyes were unfocused as he swirled the liquid in the fine stemware, before he brought it to his nose, took a sniff, then delicately sipped the liquid, his lips curling upwards, as he said in a voice that always sent shivers down the backs of those closest to him, "Ah, yes—a pre-war merlot. Quite excellent, and quite expensive." His eyes drifted to the nervous man who was standing at the entranceway to the dining room, giving him a nod, as he spoke in a fluent French, "My thanks, monsieur—a most excellent wine. I do not hope you were saving it for anything."

The man, a high-ranking member of the new French republic who had indeed been saving that wine for the fiftieth anniversary of his and his wife's marriage (a mere four years away), was smart enough to give a bow to the Russian soon-to-be Tsar who had commandeered his palatial coastal mansion. The man never made eye contact as he spoke, "Of course my liege." He stayed bowed longer than he ever had for the man he had hailed as Emperor, Napoleon (God rest his immortal soul) before he looked back up. "If the Tsesarevich has no further need of me…?"

Frieza slowly took another sip, sensing the man's desire to leave (how could he not, when the stench of anxiety infected his royal nostrils), and kept his eyes narrowed for a few long moments, before he flicked his hand. "Leave us. I have things to discuss with my advisors." The man did not have to be told twice, and Frieza smirked at the way he ran from the room, glad to know that even those who lived thousands of miles from his base in Moscow knew to fear him. What good was it being a member of the royal household of Russia, if one did not commander respect and fear everywhere one went?

Frieza snapped himself from the momentary reprieve he had let himself have when basking in the glow of his own power, and turned instead, to the men who joined him at the long formal table. His eyes, an auburn shade of brown, flashed red, causing all of the advisors in the room, who had not been stupid enough to think that Frieza's momentary distraction by a vintage wine had caused him to forget about them, to tense, their eyes at table level.

"Dodoria?"

The only man not currently sitting at the table with the rest of the advisors, a hefty man, with blotchy pink skin that was always sweaty, one of the only two men who never frowned in Frieza's presence (as they had no need too, what with being in the prized spot of Frieza's left and right hands), came forward from his position slightly behind Frieza's left shoulder. "Yes, your Tsesarevich?"

"What was the one thing I said before we left Moscow? When we started this journey?"

Dodoria, sensing what was coming, smirked, his enjoyment of another's torture almost as great as that of the man he called lord. "You said that they…." He pointed to the quivering men, as if there would be another they, "…needed to ensure that we would be in England by the night of Zhelonie's first assignment, or that someone in the room would die by your hand."

Frieza's lip turned up, a wicked smile that no person alive would call happy. "Yes, I do believe that is exactly what I said Dodoria. Excellent." The other men at the table gave the hefty man a side-eye, all knowing that Dodoria was lapping up his solo time at his master's side like a puppy, eager for attention, and they all detested (and feared) him for getting such treatment. Dodoria, comfortable in his knowledge that whatever happened, he was safe, only smirked, gave a nod, then took a step back to enjoy the show he was sure to see.

Frieza placed the glass of wine he had been sipping on the table, before he stood and began to stroll down the side of the large dining room table that held his twenty most trusted advisors. His voice chilling as he persisted, "And yet, here I find myself, on the eve of the Duke of Vegetasei's ball, a sure to be momentous event for many reasons— and am I in England?"

He waited a pause, as if expecting an answer (an answer no one would be foolish to give) before he continued, his quiet voice bringing an edge to it. "No I am not—I'M IN GODDAMN FRANCE!" Frieza's voice exploded, causing everyone at the table's back to stiffen further, their shoulder's to their ears as they listened to their tyrants tirade, "WOULD SOMEONE CARE TO EXPLAIN WHY THIS IS?"

Frieza had stopped at the other end of the table, his palms face down on the gleaming mahogany, his shoulders heaving as he took a deep breath. Not a single man at the table dared breathe, though they all hoped that someone would be stupid enough, just foolish enough, to think they could actually answer the Tsesarevich's rhetorical que—

"Your Tsesarevich, no one could have predicted the storm we encountered while crossing the Alps—the fact that we are only a day behind sched—"

Whatever the foolish man had been about to say was lost, when in a lightning fast moment, the Tsesarevich flung a knife he had hidden up his sleeve, launching it right into the heart of the advisor who had tried to reason with the Tsesarevich. Dodoria was the only man who smiled at this (even if he was disappointed the death was quick and painless), though there was not a single man in the room who was not glad to see the Tsesarevich kill the man. Better him than them…

Frieza—having ended the life of a man, smirked again, his pleasure obvious in the quirk of his dark lips. "Well now that that unpleasantness is out of the way, we have some planning to do." The other advisors all nodded, knowing that their lives were spared for another day, even if working with the Tsesarevich was more hazardous to their health then being in the frontlines of open warfare.

Frieza continued his trek back to the seat he had originally left, pausing only long enough to pull his knife out of the man's chest, cleaned it in one smooth movement on the dead man's cravat, before moving on. Frieza settled with a happy sigh as he grabbed the truly delicious glass of wine he had been partaking in, taking a slow sip. "Zhelonie is infiltrating the British ton as we speak, and I need to ensure that I am there so that when he puts my ingenuous plan into motion, it will ensure nothing short of the total collapse of the British empire…"

* * *

><p>Goku shoved what must have been his fiftieth pastry in his mouth, as he sat at the table that was in the center of the kitchen that had become his over these past few weeks of living in Saiyan Hall, his eyes took in the rapid movement of everyone around him. He chewed slowly, swallowing hard, knowing that everyone was in such a hurry for him, and feeling slightly guilty about it.<p>

He had not had a single servant until he had joined the Briefs family, and it still awed him to see how hardworking people could become for such a major event. A major event being thrown for him! An event being thrown for him which he found quite ridiculous (but that was an observation he would mostly keep to himself).

He reached for another powdered sugar covered delicacy, but found his hand being smacked by a wooden spoon, a rushed voice scolding him, "Aye—no more of those for ye, ye hear me? I have five hundred other people to feed tonight, and I don need my food being eaten by one man!"

Goku smiled sheepishly, "Sorry Chi-Chi."

Chi-Chi, who had been working harder than everyone else, frowned at him as she paused, putting down a bowl she had just been whipping something in. Her frown deepening as she took in his appearance, "The Duke will have my hide if he sees ye in yer finery covered in powdered sugar! Come here, so I can dust ye off!"

Goku stood, his smile all the more guilty as he walked over so Chi-Chi could dust him off with her pastry towel, knowing that as the head chef she should be busier than anyone else in the kitchen. Instead, she took time out of her schedule, even when it was at its busiest, to worry about him, to put him first—it was nice. He had never had someone put him first since his grandfather Gohan had passed away.

Sure, the Briefs had never put him last, or made him feel neglected—but they had other things to always worry about than him. His sister and father always had their work, while his mother…well, he loved Bunny to death, but everyone knew that her priorities were more than a little screwy, and Goku did not hold it against her if she did not worry much about her son. In fact, the last thing Goku wanted was anyone worrying about him—he could take care of himself!

Still, it was gratifying to have someone who actually put his welfare above everyone and everything else. It made him feel warm… Ever since he had invaded Chi-Chi's kitchen weeks ago, he had found himself sneaking down here more and more often, especially as she always made sure to have a plate of food for him, at all times, and was never too busy to listen to him talk about his lessons with the _evil_ Mr. Shu, or his sparring matches with his cousin.

Vegeta was a better sparring partner than Goku could ever think to hope for, and he immensely enjoyed the time they spent fencing or practicing pugilism. What he did not look forward to were the hours spent learning all about his future responsibilities, all over a plot of entailed land that was in Bath…or was it Surrey? Perth? Was that place in England? He could not remember…

But anyways—Chi-Chi had become the closest friend he had outside of Krillin (who Goku could not imagine talking to about his etiquette lessons, sheesh!) and Bulma (who had locked herself in her room this past week, as usual), and she was always happy to see him. After she thoroughly dusted him off, Goku grinned at her. "Thanks Chi-Chi."

She frowned at him, licking her thumb, then wiping some flour off of his cheek. "What would ye do without me?" She shook her head, clucking her tongue, "Ye wouldn't be covered in flour and powdered sugar right before ye are about to be introduced to the entire English ton, that's for certain."

Goku laughed, "You know I would probably be covered in much worse than flour and powdered sugar if I couldn't come down here to get something to eat."

Chi-Chi laughed as well, "Aye, that ye would be. Ye don't like being indoor, and clean, that for sure."

Goku shook his head, his smile large as he put a hand on Chi-Chi's shoulder, "Thanks, Chi-Chi." The small woman froze under his hand, unnoticed by Goku as he looked around the kitchen, his grin fading, "I guess I should be going. I mean, I do have to be introduced at some point, right?"

Chi-Chi shrugged out of his hand (though it was the last thing she wanted to do), and put both of her hands on her hips gave him a stern nod. "Aye that ye do. Ye can't go on hiding in here forever." Chi-Chi tried to be stern, but she could not keep her face from falling into a sad sort of smile as she almost absentmindedly told him, "Ye're going to be a smash hit with all of them fancy ladies. Young, smart, handsome—and with yer title and money, the marriage mart will be snapping at your heels. Before ye know it, ye'll have a pretty little English miss on your arm…"

Goku shook his head, sticking his tongue out, adamant in his refusal of some 'pretty little English miss.' Though that could be because, as usual, Goku had not quite understood what Chi-Chi had meant. Sure, he knew what marriage was, he just did not understand why any man like him, who loved being outdoors and fighting, would want to do it. He gave Chi-Chi's arm one last squeeze, before he dropped his hand, reassuring her, "Well unless they can cook like you, don't worry! You'll always be the best friend I have who isn't my sister or bald!"

Chi-Chi's cheeks turned a fair shade of red at the nicest compliment Goku had ever paid her (not that Goku had realized it), and Goku cocked his head, his eyes large as he innocently asked, "You feeling okay, Chi-Chi?"

Chi-Chi, sufficiently flustered, nodded, shooing him out of her kitchen, "Aye, aye! But ye need to leave. The dowager will have more than my hide if she catches ye in here!"

Goku nodded, agreeing, turning to go, but stopping suddenly. "Oh! One more thing!" He turned towards Chi-Chi, that smile that always turned her stomach, was on his face. "I need to practice one last thing, and since Bulma was not there for me to practice it on, can I try it on you?"

Chi-Chi, who knew just what sort of trouble she would be in if anyone caught Goku down here (or if even a hint of the way she mooned over him got upstairs to her employers), gave a frustrated stamp of her foot, knowing how stubborn this man could be. "Fine, but make it fast!"

Goku smiled at her, before nodding, concentrated. His face changed, the large grin gone, a bland smile that did not look quite right on Goku's face appearing. He dipped into a bow, "Chef Chi-Chi, an honor to meet you." Before Chi-Chi could react, Goku reached for her hand (which had been outstretched in the act of shooing him), and lifted it to his lips, placing a soft, delicate kiss on the inside of her palm.

Chi-Chi's hand clamped shut, as if to hold the kiss forever, her whole body feeling a tremulous shiver that changed her very being at that contact. She lost all thoughts of whom she was, and where she was standing, her eyes glazing over as she simply thought _he kissed me. _

Goku, noticing the catatonic trace Chi-Chi had slipped into, straightened and frowned. "Did I do something wrong?"

It took Chi-Chi a moment to find her voice, and when she did, it was strangled and foreign, and much too loud and high pitched as she shouted, "AYE." She paused for a second, putting her hand on her chest, coughing, clearing her throat, before she even tried to speak again, "Aye." She gave herself another second, as Goku just stood there, politely waiting for her to continue, "Ye're not supposed to kiss the woman's palm—you're supposed to kiss the woman's knuckles."

Goku scratched his head, but only shrugged, straightening as she pointed out just what the knuckles were, smiling as he realized what he did wrong. "Oh! Thanks Chi-Chi! I really do have to go!" He turned to run out the kitchen, before turning back to the table he had been sitting out, grabbing some more pastries to shove in his mouth, mumbling as he ran out, calling over his shoulder, "I'll te' 'ou 'ow everythin' goes tmrrw!"

She waited until he was gone until she whispered, "I can hardly wait." She allowed a moment to herself to wallow in the warm glow she always got when she was around Goku. Finally, snapping back to no-nonsense mood Chi-Chi, she turned back to her kitchen staff (who had been smart enough to remain busy while Chi-Chi and Goku spoke in the middle of the overstuffed room), her face fierce. "All righ'! Where are the soup tureens I've been asking fer fer the last four hours!"

* * *

><p>Bunny Briefs was having the time of her life. Well, in all truth, Bunny Briefs often had the time of her life—she was that sort of person. She found the happiest moments in the dullest days, and generally tried to bring an ounce of sunshine to everyone's life around. Her smile was often so large, her husband joked that most people did not know the color of her eyes (they were blue, just in case it was not clear where Bulma got her beautiful baby blues from, Bunny would often respond…).<p>

Bunny sighed, smiling as she turned to her right hand, where the very man she had left England for, sat, contentedly staring out into nothing, but still causing her heart to give a (good) squeeze. People had called her a fool, so many years ago, for leaving the only land she had ever called home, to go with a man she had met a mere few weeks earlier, a man who was not only NOT an English Peer, but an inventor!

They had laughed at her as she explained she did not need a title, or money from him (for at the time, he had very little), but all she needed was the warm way he always looked at her. Like it was just her and him in the world, and it always would be. Just like he still looked at her (in fact he was doing it now that he had noticed her looking at him), even though it has been almost a quarter of a century since they had met.

"You okay, honey?"

Bunny's smile was large as she took in her husband, his voice still filling her with sunshine. Just like it had on the day they had met. He squeezed her hand, giving her a smile back and nodded his head, prompting her to answer his question, "Of course, dear. I cannot believe the night we've been waiting for is finally here!"

"I know—it seems like just yesterday we were sitting back at Capsule Corporation, trying to figure out what to do with the mountain boy the turtle hermit had brought us…"

Bunny could not stop herself from getting emotional as she realized that it had been around ten years since that day, and she had to wave her hand in front of her face to stop the happy tears from falling. "I know—I'm so proud of how far he's come…an English lord! Imagine that. And everyone said my children would never be titled!"

Her husband chuckled, shaking his head, before he noticed Bunny's smile had lost some of its luster. "What is it dear? What is wrong?"

Bunny gave her husband another bright smile, before admitting, "this night is going to be perfect…I can tell...it's just that…I just wish we could be out there for Goku!"

Dr. Briefs nodded, "I know dear—but Goku's strong."

Bunny sighed, and then chuckled, as she looked pointedly at their full-grown daughter, who was dressed to the nines, looking every bit the proper lady…and who was unable to stop pacing the room like some sort of caged beast. Bunny smiled at her husband. "Why don't you try telling that to her, dear?"

Dr. Briefs and Bunny shared a moment of introspection as they took in the restless person they had given life to. Bunny did not know what her husband was thinking, but Bunny felt pride at just how beautiful Bulma looked. She would outshine every British rose in the room, there was no question of that. From her bold figure, to her striking looks, even to her gown— Bulma had bucked convention, as usual, and instead of wearing white or a pale pink to her debut gown, she had chosen a glowing red gown—a red that really only Bulma could pull off with her translucent skin and vivid blue hair. That red was sure to get her noticed by every single other person in the room, Bunny thought proudly.

A red, Bunny noticed on closer inspection, which currently matched the color of Bulma's cheeks. Oh dear, Bunny thought, this could not be good. Bulma only got that red when she was about to blo—

"WHY THE HELL ARE WE STUCK IN HERE, WHEN HE'S OUT THERE? ALONE?"

As if on cue, her daughter had erupted like a volcano, her temper no longer able to be held in check. Bunny was not quite sure where Bulma's temperament came from, what with Bunny always being so sunny (she chuckled inwardly at the unintentional rhyme), and her husband's rather laid back attitude, and Bulma liked to blame it on being raised in America. "THIS IS BULLSHIT!"

Bunny's gasp was immediate, still unused to the habit Bulma had picked up from the men who worked at the Capsule Corporation factories, though Bunny knew that her daughter could probably out-swear the most weathered of sailors. Still, it did not stop Bunny from trying to break her daughter of that most unladylike of conventions, "Bulma! There is no need to cuss!"

Bulma whirled on her mother, her Grecian up-do being held in place by the silver bands that matched the simple jewelry Bulma was wearing, all offset with rubies, to match the red of the dress. A good pick on Bunny's part, if Bunny did say so herself. Though Bunny did not say so, as Bulma had already started her temper tantrum, and it was hard to stop Bulma when she is on a roll. "Mo-ther! There is every need to cuss! That vile woman—"

Bunny cut her daughter off, "The dowager, I presume."

Bulma steamed on, as if Bunny had not said a word, "—has ordered us to stay in here while Goku is introduced to the whole world—"

Her husband tried to cut Bulma off this time, "Surely not the whole world, dear—just some British stuffy folk."

Bunny giggled at that, and even Bulma stopped, though she blinked, nonplussed, rolling on ahead. "—As someone he is truly not—,"

Bunny's confusion was real as she stopped her daughter this time with a raised hand, "As someone he is truly not? What do you mean Bulma dear?"

Bulma stopped frowning as she turned towards her mother, her hand motioning in a circle. "You know what I mean! As Kakarrot—not Goku! The man he truly is!"

"Oh…" Bunny and her husband said in near unison.

Bulma was not fazed, "Goku is out there by himself, with that vile woman, and her equally vile grandson! We should be out there supporting him as he is cast to the wolves—"

Bunny sighed, "Really Bulma, they're not all that bad. More like crocodile's than wolves…"

"Maybe more like hyena's my dear? It has been awfully loud out there."

Bunny turned towards her husband, her finger thoughtfully on her chin, "I suppose you are quite right. All of that cackling, and gasping. I would assume that last loud gasp means that Goku has properly been introduced to the world as the long-lost Viscount Vegetasei?"

"Quite right you are, dear. I could hear the Duke's crier announce it all the way up here just a few moments ago."

Bulma, frustrated with her parents (it appeared), threw up her hands, giving up on her tirade, and walked over to the curtains that were hiding the Briefs family from the large staircase that led to the even larger ballroom that was holding five hundred of the Vegetasei's closest (and most titled) friends.

As Bunny had learned in these last few weeks, an invitation to the Vegetasei's was highly coveted, as events were few and far between. That was not the only draw, the exclusivity of the events, but as it was sure that only the crème de la crème of society would show up to the Vegetasei event's, which equaled certain scandal. Not that the Vegetasei's ever caused a scandal (not that Bunny could wrench up, at the very least), but something big always happened whenever the biggest ego's in all of London (outside of parliament that was) were all gathered in one place.

No one in all of the Ton wanted to be the person the next morning who was forced to ask their lucky friends, "So what did I miss at the Vegetasei event?" Because the answer was always sure to be detailed, and to cause the one listening to fill with envy.

Before Bunny or her husband could sense Bulma's next move (really, Bunny had never been able to read what was going on in her daughter's head), Bulma had let out another frustrated exhale, and then threw up her hands. "That is it! We've been stuck in here long enough! I'm going out there!"

Bunny and her husband had stood, sensing impending doom. "Wait Bulma—the dowager promised she would send a footman to come to us when it was time for us to be introduced."

Bulma snorted at that and rolled her eyes, letting her thoughts of the dowager be known in that one look before she stormed over to the curtains, parting them as she vacated the room. Bunny and her husband shared one raised-brow look, before they too left the room, hurrying after Bulma, trying to get her to stop.

Bulma abruptly stopped, her parents not far behind her as Bulma turned to explain, "I promised Goku he could come to me whenever he did not know a dance, so he would not embarrass himself tonight with his lack of knowledge. You both know how horrible he is in social situations like this one without us!" Bunny and her husband shared another look, a shared agreement with Goku's lack of social knowledge, and Bulma grinned knowing she had won them over, the triumph obvious in her voice as she declared, "I'm going out there, and you can't stop me!"

As they had already reached the turning point to the grand staircase, both Bunny and Dr. Briefs acknowledged that there really was no point in stopping Bulma now. Still, Bunny could not stop herself from pointing out, "Bulma—this is the first time these peers will have ever seen you. Can you try not to enter the room like a charging rhino? How will you be able to help Goku at later social events if you're not invited to any of them?"

Bulma glared at her mother for a few long moments, as Bunny only innocently blinked back, waiting this one out. Bulma gave a frustrated sigh, but then she closed her eyes, and Bunny could practically hear her daughter counting backwards from ten. Enough color left Bulma's face that Bulma cheeks simply looked rosy, rather than bright red, her lips relaxing enough to go from being a smooth line, back to their regular rosebud shape, her nostrils no longer flaring. Bunny beamed with pride, seeing the transformation, silently thinking _that's my girl_.

When Bulma reopened her eyes, Bunny chuckled inwardly as she saw that the angry spark had not left Bulma's blue eyes—though Bulma was lucky that this made her already gorgeous eyes sparkle luminously. Bunny gave a nod, and Bulma haughtily tossed her head as she turned, lifting the skirts of her dress, before daintily descending the steps with all of the grace and refinement that had bred into her from childhood. Or that she had been blessed to inherit from her mother, Bunny thought triumphantly as she observed from above the sudden silence that descended over the room.

Every eye in the ballroom was drawn to her daughter, more than a few mouths open wide in shock, faces filled with curiosity at just who the mystery woman walking down the stairs was—Bunny could not have planned a better entrance to the ball if she had tried. Trust Bulma to find a way to outdo her mother's expectations without realizing it…

Dr. Briefs just chuckled at his daughter's dramatic entrance as he came to stand next to his wife, putting an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to his warmth, "you always know just what to say to her to have her do what you want, don't you?"

Bunny chuckled, keeping track of just who seemed enamored of her daughter (already having a quite large list of the most eligible men in all of London, and who and who would not make a good catch for her daughter) as she put a delicate kiss on her husband's cheek. "Of course dear—she got her temper from your American half, and I've had you well in hand for over twenty years."

Dr. Briefs gave another good-hearted chuckle, though Bunny kept her eyes on the ballroom, observing everyone, making mental notes. As her eyes landed on one solitary figure, she wanted to throw a fist up in triumph. The most eligible man in all of London was starring at Bulma, unable to look away, pulled to Bunny's daughter like she had the answer to every question the man ever wanted or needed to know.

Bunny turned to her husband, smiling, and pointed the man out, her voice giddy, "Look—he can't keep his eyes off of Bulma!"

Dr. Briefs followed his wife finger, smiling as he noticed just who she was pointing too. "Only you would think that the look on that man's face showed interest, woman…"

Bunny just giggled, and she pulled her husband after her, having given her daughter enough time to make an entrance. "After living with the Duke of Vegetasei for the past week, I think I can tell when that man is interested in our daughter…"

What Dr. Briefs said, about only Bunny interpreting the look on the Duke of Vegetasei's face as interest, was not, technically, true.

* * *

><p>One other person had noticed—simply because they were not as enraptured by the radiant beauty slowly descending the stairs as every other person in the room was. While every other pair of eyes were on the blue-haired enchantress making her way into the already overcrowded ballroom. This ice blue pair of eyes had seen her, taken measure of the poise and elegance in her step, the high hold of her pert nose, the way her beauty had no compare (indeed, she knew this mystery woman was sure to be this seasons incomparable), and turned towards the man she had not seen since he had broken off their arrangement over a month ago.<p>

It was her first time seeing him since he had ended their affair, and while she would like to pretend that she had walked away from their end with no unresolved feelings, she had to admit she had come tonight, curious to see if there was any chance of a renewed relationship. He was as cold as she was, and that suited her. She was comfortable with him, and while she had never fooled herself in love with him, she had grown rather fond of him—fonder of him than he had of her, which was a no-no in her book.

She had been widowed for over ten years, and in the affairs that had followed, she had set out some ground rules to avoid hurting the men she was with, as well as protecting herself. It had worked out well. She had had affairs, she had gotten pleasure (and other things) from them, and she had gotten out with no messy entanglements or lasting associations—just as she had wanted. Until now that was. She finally found a man she could tolerate being around, and he had been the one to leave her—a first for her.

When the Duke of Vegetasei had first broken things off with her, she had held her head high, and resolved to let him walk away. But the last month had grown long, and she had found no desire to seduce another man. So she had come here tonight, with the goal of renewing their relations, to see if she could seduce him back to her, and to maybe make their arrangement a little more…permanent. She did not fancy her feelings for him deep, but she could see herself making a comfortable life with him.

She had just never expected to feel the hurt she did when she saw the way the Duke of Vegetasei stared at the woman who came down the stairs. She recognized the lust in his eyes instantly—he had looked at her like that once too—but it was those others, deeper, feelings, the ones she would put money on that the Duke himself had not even acknowledged, that had caused her breath to catch. It was there in the way the Duke could not look away—he was disconcerted, and she knew that the Duke never lost his cool, hardly even in that moment of purest pleasure where she herself could not stop herself from screaming out. Whoever this siren was, she had the Duke of Vegetasei under her spell, whether she wanted him to be or not.

The widow took one look at the way the Duke stared at the young woman, and fled. In a refined way, of course. She took a deep breath, quietly finding the open French doors that beckoned out to the open balcony, slipping out unnoticed (she doubted most people would notice anything with the way they were staring at the mystery woman). She did not even look back as she took the steps that led deep into the Vegetasei gardens, losing herself in them as she composed herself. She would appear back in the ballroom, composed, and calm. And she would find another man who she could seduce.

Or that had been the plan.

That plan had been destroyed the second she had stepped onto the balcony, and run straight into something hidden in shadows. As she let out a solid oomph, her midsection getting knocked by something round, she took a step back, putting a hand on her chest, hoping to gain some of the breath she had lost. The wind had been knocked out of her (a feeling she recognized from her younger days), and she lost her usual cool, calm composure as she began to cough, trying to recoup some of the air she had lost.

As she did, she heard a muttered, "Oh jeez! Look what you've done! You just had to sneak out to see Goku's big entrance, didn't you! And now look what you've done!" Then the same voice was directed to her, "I am so sorry!"

As the widow regained her breath, she turned towards the source of the noise, her eyes landing heavily on a shorter, bald man, who was standing half in the shadow, his hand held out to her, his eyes full of concern, which disconcerted her—no one ever looked at her like that. "Are you okay? I don't think you saw me when you came out, and I didn't have enough time to move out of your way as you rounded that corner."

The widow's eyes narrowed, taking in the appearance of the man, noticing that his clothes were not as expensive as she was used to, and his accent was off, causing her mistrust of this midget to grow. Her voice was sharp as she questioned, "Who are you? What are you doing hiding out here?"

The man held the hand up that he had been holding out to her, putting on a sheepish grin, "Oh, me? I'm, ah, well no one really." Her eyes narrowed further, and he continued, gulping, "Well the name's Krillin." As she continued to stare, he bumbled on, rather nervously, "I'm here with Goku."

She stared at him, still confused, that name as foreign to her as Krillin was. "You're here with who? Who's this Goku?"

He blustered, his cheeks turning red. That stopped the widow short—she was not used to the kind of man who blushed, and it intrigued her that this man seemed to have no control over how calm and controlled he looked. "Oh jeez! I forgot…I mean Kakarrot. I'm here with Kakarrot. I traveled from America with him. I'm not technically invited to the party, but I had to see how Goku…I mean Kakarrot would do with all of these people. He's a pretty shy guy."

The bald man looked past her, into the lights, and the widow pursed her lips at seeing his lack of a nose—not that it looked too odd. Which was odd in itself…

The bald man—Krillin, continued, unnoticing of her perusal of him. "That Bulma though…she sure knows how to make an entrance, right?"

The widow snapped to attention, pulled from her wandering thoughts. "You mean you know that woman? Bulma?"

"Of course. She's Goku's…Kakarrot's, danggit I keep forgetting, sister!" The widow pursed her lips, thinking…

"Are you sure you're okay, Miss? I feel like I'm babbling on and on and you haven't said a word. I guess you ran into me pretty hard, and I know I'm a pretty solid guy."

He let out a nervous chuckle that further enraptured her—just who was this man? The fact that he was nervous enough to chuckle, and not suave enough to cover it up as something else…she had to admit she was interested. He was an open book, and she was not afraid to admit she was curious to see what she would find if she read the pages he was holding open to her. She had not met a man like him in…well…ever, it seemed. "Krillin, you said?"

He nodded, and she saw his cheeks redden further as she smiled at him, placing her hand on his arm. "Would you care to lead me through the gardens? I find myself in need of some cool air, and you seem to be just the person who can help me make my way through them."

"S-s-sure! Of course! I know the gardens quite well, as we spar out here…Kakarrot and I that is…" He stopped talking for a moment, as he led her down the stairs, before taking a deep breath and starting again, "I'm sorry—you know my name, but I don't know yours. How rude of me. I may not be a fancy hidden lord, but I do have manners!"

The widow smiled, a practiced grin that she knew drove men crazy, wondering just how quickly she could crush the spirits of the man in front of her, while finding out information about the intriguing Bulma, who the widow had not yet decided whether or not she would crush, just out of spite. "Me? Well you may call me Eighteen…"

* * *

><p>Knowing when to make your entrance is a most desired trait in a spy. Most people think it is all about being sneaky (which it is), or about being untraceable (which it is)—but the agent who was known simply as Zhelonie (or Green to those who spoke Russian—which ninety-nine percent of England did not), found that one could not say enough about a good entrance. Or, more aptly, recognizing when fate has given you the perfect opportunity to slip into parties, one might not technically have been invited to, unnoticed.<p>

See, Zhelonie, one of the most celebrated spies in the past century, had a three step plan that allowed him entrance to any high-class society he wanted entrance too. It had worked in numerous other countries, and he did not anticipate running into problems here, in England.

The first step was that one had to find where the _it_ party of the ton was going to be. It was very important that it was the _it_ party, as usually they were so large, no one could be quite sure who was or was not invited, and because this _it_ party was where the sort of people Zhelonie wanted to rub elbows with would be to complete step three. Zhelonie had been pleased to discover, quite early and easily, that the place he would need to infiltrate was going to be at the Duke of Vegetasei's aptly named Saiyan hall. Zhelonie had chuckled at the irony of having to sneak into the Duke of Vegetasei's, but he had kept that joke to himself for now.

The second step was about scoping out the location of the party, and finding the easiest way to gain entrance that was not the front door (an amateur mistake made by the lesser ton who were trying to gain admittance to this very exclusive party). Zhelonie had quite early on discovered in his career that the British loved their lavish gardens, and that these were always easy enough to sneak in through. One simply had to pretend to be a footman of a carriage waiting out front, sneak around the back, and wait by the always open, always overtly large, and large in number, glass French doors. From that point on, it was simply about waiting to complete step three.

Step three, Zhelonie's favorite step, was to slip into the party unnoticed, at first, then slowly make himself more and more known through the night. It would seem counterintuitive that a spy would want himself to be known, but it was not Zhelonie the spy who needed to be known, but Zhelonie the alter ego—the man who made himself so known that any other event of note being thrown by the Ton would just seem _wrong_ without Zhelonie's inclusion.

As it was, Zhelonie had thought his plan had been ruined at step two and half, when he had realized he was not alone on the balcony necessary for him to sneak in through. His hopes had not been dashed for long, though, when a quick observance of the short, bald man watching on the other side of the balcony showed a man who was just taking pleasure in watching what was going on inside the party. He did not have a hint of nefariousness about him, and Zhelonie quickly placed him as a silly servant, who was trying to watch from the wings. Still, Zhelonie did not want to have to kill him, but he would if the man showed even a hint of interest in the darkened corner Zhelonie was currently standing on.

Thankfully, right when Zhelonie had been growing impatient with trying to find the perfect timing and way to slip into the party unannounced, the blue-haired bombshell—a bless her, whoever she was—had come down the stairs, distracting every single person in the room from what was going on around them. On top of that, the bald servant was soon distracted from his own surroundings by the bumbling blonde woman who had run straight into him.

Zhelonie did not need to be told by fate twice, and so he used the opportunity to slip into the room, near the back, waiting as the whispers started, covering his own entrance quite effectively. When the siren finally reached the bottom of the stairs, the woman next to him, who had not noticed the addition of another guest to this party (namely, himself), barely looked at him as she whispered, "Do you know who she is?"

Zhelonie's English almost perfect, just the barest hint of his French origins revealed, and, always, unnoticed by those around him. "I regret to say I do not have a clue. She is lovely though—not as lovely as you, of course, madam…"

The older woman, well past her prime, let out a chuckle, blushing, though any idea Zhelonie had of continuing a flirtation was lost as he was distracted again. The footman who had been acting as crier, who must have been sleeping at his post, or most likely, had been as distracted as the beauty who had taken the stairs as everyone else, called out, "Presenting the Dr. and Mrs. Briefs, and their daughter, Miss Briefs."

Zhelonie eyed Miss Briefs speculatively, ignoring the older couple who were her parents completely as he took the confidant, beautiful woman in. He decided then and there that he owed her a personal thank you for her help in entering the ball tonight. She should consider herself lucky that one of the most famous spies of the nineteenth century would choose to bestow his favors on her…

* * *

><p>AN: Dang, this chapter was fun to write! I've been doing a lot of Bulma and Vegeta, and while they are my favorite to write for, I love having the other characters have voices as well (though I think I got some of their characterization's down so much better than others). Frieza has made an appearance earlier than I had planned, to the request of one of my awesome reviewers (you know who you are!), we finally get inside of Zhelonie's head and you guys finally got to see who the Widow was (though most of you guessed it—good job!). Also, a little Goku and Chi-Chi thrown in for good measure, because their romance is just so sweet (the complete opposite of Bulma and Vegeta's, I would say), and Bunny Briefs is always a force to be reckoned with in my opinion. I had the most fun writing her part.

Next time, more of the Vegetasei ball (oh the drama just be startin' y'all!)

Also, I think we should all make a joint effort to bring the word omnibus back to the modern vernacular—who's with me?


	14. Demands and Introductions

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: I cannot believe that I have over one hundred reviews at —seriously, you guys rock. For the people who have reviewed every chapter, and for those of you who just drop me a wonderfully nice line every now and then—I love you all. Your reviews never fail to make me smile, and they continue to inspire me to write.

Also—way to go RocktheDragon for catching the Monty Python reference in my A/N's last time (it's the nerd in me, I can't help it).

Lilpumpkingirl, thank you for being more than just a usual beta reader—thank you for pushing me to be a better writer. Seriously, you are awesome!

Chapter Thirteen: Demands and Introductions

"You have to do something."

Vegeta, who was in the process of watching (and yet not looking at, at all) Bulma, turned towards the dowager, frowning. Where had she come from? How had she found him? He had come to the mezzanine above the ballroom, making sure he was in the shadows with the strict goal of not being found by others. Apparently he was only able to hide from people not as hell-bent as the dowager was. Still, her finding him was not the problem—her declaration was.

"I do?"

The dowager scowled, glaring at him as if he was being willfully obtuse—which Vegeta was proud to admit, he was not. The dowager always found a large number of things to complain about, and Vegeta had long since given up trying to understand what went on in that head of hers. "Of course you do. The point of finding Kakarrot was for him to help further our bloodline, and to ensure that the Vegetasei land does not fall into non-Saiyan hands. We are supposed to be making sure he makes the appropriate match with a woman, one we can approve of, one who will continue our bloodline through her womb."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow and when she did not continue simply prompted, "And isn't he?" Was that not the whole point of this damned ball, as the dowager had pointedly reminded him numerous times over the past week?

The dowager pointed, her long slender finger finding Kakarrot and Bulma on the dance floor where Vegeta could tell you without any hesitation that they were sharing their fourth dance. Her voice rose slightly, an oddity in itself, and Vegeta found himself listening as the dowager spoke, curious to her anger.

"Not with her in the picture! There are already whispers about how indecent it is for him to dance with his sister more than twice—especially since there is no blood relation." When Vegeta only sipped scotch from the tumbler in his hand the dowager's eyes narrowed and making her voice low, she practically hissed as she continued, "She is a commoner Vegeta! An American commoner! I do not want her blood mixing with our families—he needs to dance with any of the other titled women I have decided are appropriate for him! Not that harlot!"

Vegeta's eyes grew infinitesimally larger—as surprised at the dowager's outburst as she appeared to be. The longer she spoke the more her voice rose and her usually pale cheeks flushed with anger. It was a side to the dowager he could not recall ever seeing before. She was a very cool and composed woman—what was it about Bulma that seemed to prompt the most stone-like of Vegetasei's into emotional outbursts?

The dowager had regrouped wonderfully though, patting her hair as the color left her cheeks, her metaphorical claws retracting as she gracefully reminded him, "You have been neglecting your duties as a host, and I have not pointed this out—"

"Until now," Vegeta retorted right back.

His grandmother continued as if he had not spoken, "—because it is expected of you, as it is the personae you have always cultivated in society. One I wholeheartedly approve of." Vegeta felt the old desire he had to change anything about himself that made the dowager happy, by going and becoming the most social of persons at the ball. But that would involve talking to others, and if there was one thing Vegeta liked less than the dowager, it was the stupidity of the British peer. So he did nothing, instead looking at the dowager as she spoke to him sternly, "But I am asking you to do this. Miss Briefs has danced every waltz with Kakarrot, and I would like you to claim the next one with her."

Vegeta took another slow sip of his drink before he blandly asked, "Me?"

"Yes, you! It is your duty to ensure that Kakarrot's children are nobly born, and we both know if he ends up with his 'sister' then _our_ children will be as common as the lowest street sweepers."

Vegeta frowned at her use of pronouns and knew that when Kakarrot did have children, he was going to have to move hell and high water to make sure the dowager did not sweep in, herd them off, and raise them as she had done to him. No child deserved that cold, impersonal childhood that he had had.

When Vegeta said nothing, the dowager continued, "Head Miss Briefs off the next time she wants to dance with him, and tell her it is your duty as host to dance with her. Do you understand, Vegeta?"

Of course he understood, but (just to annoy her even more) Vegeta shrugged, not letting his grandmother know a thing. "But would I not be the one who is wasting their precious dance time on a commoner? What if I am to fall in love with her?"

The dowager was the one who raised an eyebrow this time, the sensible cool woman he remembered from his childhood back in full swing. "That would require a heart Vegeta."

Then she was gone, coming as quickly and as quietly as she appeared.

Vegeta frowned at the dowager's retreating back as she descended the grand staircase. His view from the mezzanine that surrounded the packed ballroom gave him an unfettered view of all that was happening below him. Up here, he was practically invisible—trust the dowager to find him, command him to do something, and then disappear as if she had never been here in the first place. Oh, and insult him—mustn't forget that one.

He sighed as he rubbed his brow, wondering how late it was. He had been able to spend much of the ball in the gentleman's parlor, drinking fine scotch, and smoking expensive cigars.

He had discovered at a very young age that some of the best politics went on during social events when most men let their guards down. Vegeta had no compunction about making a deal with an inebriated man, or forcing them to sign a contract—as long as he got what he wanted. And he was always sure to make certain that the deal was not so one-sided that a man could complain (or take him to courts) the morning after.

Even from the gentleman's parlor though, the success of the ball was well apparent. Anyone who was anyone was here and Kakarrot had been a huge revelation for all of the partygoers. He had already overheard several marriage minded momma's trying to figure out how to get his newly turned nineteen-year-old cousin and their debutante daughters together. That thought made the over-thirty year old Duke smirk, knowing that Kakarrot had not a chance against the most…creative…of these mother's, who would be looking for ways to trap him into marriage.

Vegeta would have to keep an eye on the more ambitious ones, not because he cared if his cousin got trapped or not, but because there was some truth in what the dowager had said. Vegeta did not want their bloodline mixing with just any noble. He would have to make a good match, one that Vegeta could give his stamp of approval. Especially as there was so much riding on the young man's shoulders, even if Kakarrot was not yet aware of this….

Vegeta had been getting compliments all night on a party well thrown. The food was excellent, the alcohol was flowing, and everyone was already trying to figure out just what they could copy to make their parties even an ounce as successful as this one. He should feel proud, though he thoroughly detested throwing parties.

And yet…_Bulma._

What a thorn in his side she was proving to be.

Right after Kakarrot had made a successful entrance as the newest Vegetasei, Vegeta had been doing his duty and speaking to those who had questions about the land, title, money and responsibilities of the newly found Viscount of Vegetasei. It had been tedious, but it needed to be done. And Vegeta had already been counting the minutes until he could make an escape from the banality of the ballroom when he had suddenly felt the air become electrified. He was the first person to sense it. He knew this because he had tensed and lifted his head from the conversation he had been having, listening for…for what?

He had turned towards the stairs then almost knowing what was coming and yet still finding himself completely unbalanced by the sight of Bulma as…as a lady. When he thought of her he saw her as that fiery temptress, or that irritating woman who stood up to a British Duke for her brother, or that bold genius who commandeered his office and saw nothing wrong with discovering all of his secrets. He had thought of her as an American heathen (much like his grandmother still thought of her it seemed), a siren, an inventor, and a linguistic genius—but not as this elegant beauty that was captivating all five hundred people in the ballroom. Hell, forget everyone else in the room—she had utterly mesmerized him in a way that had nothing (yet everything) to do with his lust.

Even now, as she whirled away below him, Vegeta followed her progress with eagle eyes. Each time he saw her he was amazed at just how damn beautiful she was.

Bulma was a vision in a deep, ruby red—a color other woman were wearing tonight but none quite like her. The darkness of the gown counteracted with the fairness of her skin, emphasizing the red color of her lips, and the blue of her hair and eyes. The dress was off the shoulders and her hair pulled up, gracefully revealing creamy expanses of the white skin of her neck and shoulders. The front dipped down to reveal a hint of her cleavage, a silver and ruby broach drawing the eyes straight to her impressive chest. The silk gown pulled in at her tiny waist (which he had only seen hints of in her day gowns) before flaring out at the hips, her skirt not puffing out quite as large as every other woman's in the establishment.

He was sure she had already started a new trend. Vegeta could already imagine the hundreds of women going to their modiste and seamstresses tomorrow, begging for them to make them look like her. He snorted at that thought—'_that would be highly unlikely_.'

It was not just the gown itself that transformed her—it was the very way she carried herself as she walked down those stairs alone. She held her skirts as she walked down unaccompanied with her head held high, looking very much like she belonged in a royal palace and not just some Ducal home. She was a lady, pure and simple, and Vegeta had heard the hundreds of buzzing whispers about her start before she was even fully down the stairs. How different she was from that woman who had first run into her drawing room to meet him—he could almost not reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he had first met. How could he ever think she was not refined, or dignified?

With every dainty (yet sure) step she had taken down those stairs earlier, he had felt like he was getting hit in the stomach as his gut tightened, unable to tear his gaze away from her. He had had every desire to run to her, meet her at the bottom of the stairs, and sweep her into his arms and carry her away from the eyes of everyone else in that ballroom. Something possessive and hot had slithered through him as he realized that he was not alone in watching her. Everyone was—not just the females either. The male's as well.

No other male should get to look at her! She was his!

Vegeta moved away from the grand staircase as a group of laughing ladies returned from the retiring room they had been at, chatting and gossiping about the nights events. He pushed himself further along the abandoned mezzanine, wishing to do nothing more than to disappear into the shadows as he had done many a times in his tenure as a spy. But he did not disappear completely… not this time. He had to make sure he could see Bulma, and when his eyes found her again seeing her laugh at something that idiot Kakarrot said, his hand tightened on his glass as he felt an echo of that earlier feeling.

It had been the most possessive feeling Vegeta could ever remember having. It had threatened to choke him as a fine red mist settle in front of his vision. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs, disappearing into the crowd who all turned to her, crowding her, that Vegeta had been freed from the feeling—and fled. He had left the ballroom, uncaring of the duties he was leaving behind. Bulma had thrown him off—he had needed to escape—and escape he did straight to the gentleman's chambers.

Even there, though, he could not truly escape her. As she had captivated everyone, even the men were buzzing with gossip and rumors about the blue-haired beauty. Though most of it was innocuous enough, some of the more lascivious of men were letting their imaginations run away from them. Every time Vegeta heard a word or whisper from a male peer describing just what he would like to do with the vision in red, Vegeta had had to work hard at tampering down the beast inside of him that urged him to rip that man's throat out. Every time, thinking _How dare he!_

Vegeta was glad he had years of hiding his emotions on his side, especially when it became common knowledge that Bulma had been staying under his roof and would for the whole season. The more courageous (or perhaps it was stupid) of men would look to him, excited upon discovering this news, and Vegeta would have to fight back the urge to do something very ungentlemanly to them. He had been approached many times, with a variation of, "I say, that woman lives here? Can you introduce the two of us, Vegetasei?"

Vegeta would meet all such inquiries with a dark stare, no other motion needed as the other man would generally just pretend to remember they had somewhere else to be. Vegeta knew only the most foolish of men could withstand that look from him, especially as he had once been told that it somehow managed to suck the soul out of the person he was staring at, and so he gladly employed it tonight.

Vegeta wished to be completely alone but since this was his ball, he could not leave. So he had gone as far from the ballroom as he could, avoiding it as if it harbored the black plague. Knowing Bulma was in there…moving around and talking to… dancing with…other _men_! Again it was unintentionally making him see green, and Vegeta did not relish the feeling. It was the jealous feeling though, the one he had been trying to avoid, that had finally driven him from his hiding spot. The whispers about Bulma and Kakarrot dancing together had grown louder and louder, no matter how much he had tried to ignore them.

When it had become known that they were lining up for their fourth dance Vegeta had finally given up on any pretense of not caring, and come to the upper mezzanine, where he though he could watch her dance without any interference. Trust the dowager to find him. He sighed at that unpleasant thought, before he threw back the rest of his scotch, the burning sensation running hot down his throat as he used his exceptional vision to continue to watch Bulma.

She even danced with an unstated poise he had come to find—leaving him to wonder just how wrong he had read her. What other surprises this woman was hiding from him? Before tonight he would have confidently said Bulma was many things (loud, crass, boorish, beautiful, smart…) but he would never have anticipated that he would have said she was by far the most graceful woman in a ballroom full of woman bred to be graceful.

When he had stipulated that she answer three of his questions Vegeta had only had one question in mind (having to do with a certain relationship she had with her brother), but now he was glad to have claimed all three questions instead of just one. She intrigued him—and more than just his lust responding to seeing her.

His grandmother had railed against her marrying Kakarrot, and Vegeta understood why from a pride standpoint. But if he were not a Duke, if he was not a Vegetasei, if he did not have other obligations that made marriage pointless—Vegeta would have pursued her. She might not have a title, but she carried herself as if she had hundreds of them, and thousands of years of breeding, behind her and would produce only the bluest of blood among children if she did indeed marry into the London peerage.

Which was a dangerous thought.

One he was only too happy to have interrupted, even if it was his awful grandmother, commanding that he dance with the one woman he knew he should be avoiding the rest of this ball. Why her? Why not anyone but her?

But he sighed, knowing that even if he would love to do nothing more than throw this in the dowager's face and not do as she asked, Vegeta knew he had to. It would not further his motives if he Kakarrot did not get married to someone who could carry on the Vegetasei lineage. And despite what he had just thought about Bulma producing noble children, he would rather die a slow and painfully long death than to see Bulma's stomach grow large with any man's baby—other than his, of course.

Another extremely dangerous thought to have when one was a spy.

* * *

><p>Bulma was on top of the world.<p>

She had known that charging into the ballroom was perhaps not the smartest idea she had ever had, but Bulma knew how to work a crowd. She had spent hours getting ready, and Bulma was just vain enough to know that her natural beauty was only enhanced when she had three different maids getting her ready. She would stun tonight, especially with the exquisitely crafted gown she was wearing. And she was right.

She had felt all of their stares, but had not met a single eye as she descended, using her entrance into the ball as a way to take all of those stares off of her decidedly flushed looking brother. Goku hated attention of any kind, unless he was in the boxing or fencing match, in which case he reveled in being able to show off his skills. Bulma had known this, and so had decided what better way to get them to stop talking about her brother than by giving them something far, far prettier to talk about?

When Bulma had finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she had been swamped. Women crowded her, trying to ask the names of her dress maker, or push their daughters next to her in the hopes that some of Bulma's sparkle would rub off on them, while men young and old crowded her, well…because she was gorgeous, if she did say so herself. She had been introduced to so many people she had not a chance of remembering any of their names. Not even the men she danced with.

As far as she could remember, they had all been charming with their British accents, and blandly handsome, as all men with money tended to be. Not that every man she danced with was handsome, but there was that air of knowing they were still desirable because of their bank accounts and family lineage. Bulma thought the men in New York were bad enough, but the English were proving far worse as they had hundreds of years of history telling them they were better than everyone else. Honestly, it was as if they expected her as an American to fall at their feet, simply because they had money and a title. She could only roll her eyes as the night went on and the egos only seemed to get bigger.

Bulma knew she would be successful in a London crowd, she just had not anticipated _how_ successful she would be. Was she truly the only new woman of the season, or was it her Americanness that had drawn them in? She had just wanted to distract everyone from her brother, not become the hottest commodity at the ball. Especially as she was thinking about her new duties as a member of the war offices in London—what kind of spy would she make, being the most visible person at any ball? Maybe this would come in handy, though. People would probably not suspect an American was a spy for Britain, and be more loose-lipped around her. Especially the men who wanted to impress her. She could use this to her advantage…

Still, there were decided disadvantages to being the most sought after person in a ballroom. Particularly when it came to obligations she had to her brother. She had to extricate herself from four different men to make her way to Goku for their promised dances, and none took too kindly to being told that she would rather dance with her brother than with them. Not that that would stop them from trying again, later, she had discovered. The second Goku would put walk her off the dance floor she would be crowded by other men.

Bulma knew she had danced with her brother too much. Mr. Shu's voice was annoying loud as he shouted at her subconscious, "TWO DANCES WITH ANY ONE PERSON! THAT IS IT!" But she did not care as this was her brother. Goku needed her, and Bulma had not met a man alive yet whom she cared about more than her brother. Mostly because the dances she shared with Goku, as _she_ subtly led _him_ around the dance floor, were her favorite. She could be herself with Goku, laughing, smiling, and not worrying about saying the wrong thing. It was a nice mini-break from the tedium of politeness that followed her everywhere else.

After they finished their fourth dance together, Goku had once again proven his usefulness as he read her thoughts and smiled. He said low enough for only her to hear, "I'll go get you some punch. You look thirsty. You haven't stopped all night, have you?"

"Not at all. Punch sounds perfect right now. Thanks, Goku!" She smiled gratefully, especially as she was exhausted from all the dancing and politeness (it was tiring!), though she was still riding the high of being such a success at the ball. Every time she caught a glimpse of her mother, Bunny was beaming at Bulma, and Bulma could only look forward to the grilling she was sure to get later, in relation to every man she had danced with. Bunny wanted grandchildren, and, as she kept reminded Bulma, Bulma was not getting any younger at the very marriageable old age of twenty-two.

Bulma was glad Goku had escorted her off to the side of the ball, so she could observe the dance floor without being on it. She found herself intrigued to notice the similarities and differences between the best of New York society and the best of London society. It did not matter which side of the pond you were on, it seemed. Marriage was the goal for the women, while for the men it was avoiding marriage for as long as possible at all costs. That always created the most fascinating of dramas…

After a short break, the musicians were setting up for another dance, a lively quadrille, and despite her aching feet, Bulma wanted to participate. She loved dancing, it was one of her favorite things to do, and it had been a while since she could stay at a ball as late as it was, as New York's season had not begun before they had left. As she saw the familiar lines of dancers begin to form, Bulma felt a yearning to be out there to join them.

As if on cue another man, a tall, dashing figure in his evening kit, approached her. "Miss Briefs." He gave a bow, and Bulma curtseyed back.

When she rose, she took the man in, and was interested to see how handsome he really was. She was quick in her assessment, as she knew she could not stare her fill, and had learned early on to get as much as one could in a quick look. He was lean, athletically built, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He had long, exceptionally dark black hair that he had braided, thrown over one of his shoulders. His eyes were the brown of a caramel, and his smile was seductive. Right off the bat Bulma was impressed. He was exceedingly handsome, almost bordering on pretty, and she could not help the flip she felt in her stomach. She had a weakness for handsome men.

And in a room full of handsome men, this one stood out. Well, with the exception of a certain—so far missing in action—Duke…

"I'm sorry, have we been introduced?" Bulma's smile was large, trying to remember if they had or had not met tonight. She did not think so (she would like to think she would remember HIM!), but still, it was improper of a man to come straight up and introduce himself. There were English rules in place that insured young men and women could not just walk up to each other and start talking to each other. The English rules were stuffier than the ones she was used to, but she could see the wisdom behind them, especially as men had been sniffing at her heels all night for an introduction.

The man smiled a winning grin at her, his brown eyes sparkling. "Not at all. I just find you exceptionally hard to track down, and have found myself in good fortune to find you alone. I am the Viscount Viridian."

Bulma eyes lit up as she heard him speak, "You are French!"

Viridian's brown eyes grew large, seemingly taken aback. He covered though, quickly, with a small laugh, "I'm sorry? Did I say something in French and not realize it?"

Bulma chuckled, shaking her head. "No, no—not that. I'm sorry—it was rude of me to burst out like that—it is just with the way you speak. Your accent is very subtle, but it is there."

Viridian raised an eyebrow, a muscle clenching in his jaw. "Is it?"

Bulma nodded, deciding that he was taking this matter far too seriously. "Oh yes. Especially with how you say Viscount. The British tend to put a lot more emphasis on the 's', whereas the French people I have met leave the s out."

Something flashed, dark, in Viridian's eyes, but it was gone rather quickly. Once again Bulma found herself wondering why it mattered if he was French or not. "You have found me out. I was not raised in Britain. But I have lived here a very long time."

Bulma sensed he wished to leave this part of the conversation behind, but she was curious as she could not figure out why he was uncomfortable about it. "Have you been to France recently? I have always wanted to go."

Viridian smiled again, all charm as he spoke, "I regret to inform the lady that I have not been in years. But perhaps I will go back, now that the country is more settled." His smile grew as he looked at her, effectively changing the subject and tampered down Bulma's open curiosity when he spoke next, "Now I must admit, Miss Briefs, I do not feel right, speaking to such a lovely young woman when such a lovely quadrille is being played. May I have this dance?"

Bulma nodded, putting her gloved hand in his, and letting him lead her back out to the floor. Viridian was an exceptional dancer, lively and spry, and Bulma found herself laughing and smiling whenever they got the chance to speak. She felt bubbly, the smile unable to leave her face, especially when he looked at her.

This feeling, she recognized.

It was fun, and lighthearted—she was flirting with this man. And—Bulma was proud to say—she was doing a damn good job of it. Viridian could not keep his eyes off of her, and Bulma felt a small spark whenever she touched his hand. This she knew! This she could do! This lighthearted flirting was what she had been taught since before she could go to balls, this was the way men and women were supposed to interact. This was courtship and she was enjoying herself. She was almost disappointed when she heard the last chords being played knowing her time with Viridian was coming to an end.

As the dance ended the Viscount took her hand and led her to the edge of the dance floor, smiling down at her. "I am now the envy of every other man at this ball."

Bulma smiled at him, delighted to find that his eyes were on her alone. She lowered her lashes as she answered primly, "And I am sure I am the envy of quite a few number of ladies, as well."

As the next dance started, Bulma and Viridian stood off from the crowd, and used the opportunity to chat about inconsequential things one tended to when flirting in proper society. He asked her about her trip from America, and she asked him about his lodgings in town. He countered with bland questions about how she was liking London, and she responded with blander questions about the normal London weather.

There was nothing inappropriate about what they talked about, but the deeper subtext of flirtation was definitely there. Bulma laughed daintily (like she had been taught to do) whenever the Viscount said something slightly witty and she was proud to see the flash of attraction in Viridian's eyes. This was what she was used to when it came to men. Not that dark, overpowering feeling she tended to have around the Duke…who she was not going to think about right now!

While they were speaking, Bulma accidentally (on purpose _of course_) lightly touched Viridian's cheek. She was surprised by his reaction when he drew back sharply, and put a hand to where she had touched as if it had burned. Bulma was confused to the stark way he reacted (most men were delighted to be touched by her) but then she looked down at her glove and saw that she had smeared some skin-tone colored rouge onto the tips of her fingers when she had touched him, and she looked up at him, confused.

Viridian, who still held a hand to his cheek, smiled at her, apologetically, back to his charming self. "Excuse the vanities of man, Miss Briefs. I had a skin condition as a child, and find that makeup is necessary is social situations, unless I want every person to stare at my discolorations."

Bulma's confusion lifted at his explanation, and she put a hand to her mouth, feeling guilty, "Oh, I am so sorry! I had no idea!"

Viridian nodded, "Yes, it is not something I usually advertise." He gave her a rueful grin before slowly removing his hand, "Is it smeared much?"

Bulma took a step closer to him, looking at his cheek, before smiling at him reassuringly. "Not at all. You cannot tell I have even touched you."

Viridian turned his head, looking at her. "And yet I feel as if I have been imprinted for life, Miss Briefs."

Bulma felt her stomach give another little flip, especially at the twinkle in his eye. Even with the flippy feeling making her giddy, when the strains of a waltz began to play Bulma nodded at Viridian as she took a step back. It was time to resume her duties as a good older sister, and so she sighed as she gave a small curtsy. "Viscount, if you would excuse me. This dance has been claimed."

Viridian took a step closer, closing the distance between them that she had just created. "Can you break that claim? I would love to waltz with you."

Bulma smiled, sardonically this time at the man. Ah yes—the ego of a handsome man. She should be used to this what with having been around some very handsome men in her lifetime. They always assumed a lady would break a promise she had made to another man simply because they wanted her too. Still, she was not unkind when she answered, "Unfortunately, I cannot. It is with—"

Bulma was cut off as a very familiar deep voice cut her off, "Me."

Bulma was surprised enough to take a step back from Viridian and whirl away at the same time as she saw Vegeta standing not two feet away from her. Even with his dark eyes glaring at her and Viridian, flashing disapproval, he was the most handsome man in the whole of the ball. Though every man was wearing a black evening kit, most were wearing colorful waistcoats—not Vegeta.

He was head to toe in black, except for the white of his starched shirt. The white contrasted just enough with his skin to make his already tan skin look bronzed, emphasizing the darkness of the Duke. Even with the frown on his face Vegeta had captured her interest as no other man had, and all of those little flips Bulma had felt for Viridian did not compare with the rather large one her stomach gave as she saw the way Vegeta was looking at her. Much like he wanted to scold her at the same time he wanted to devour her.

Still Bulma was skeptical of Vegeta and what game he was playing. She had never promised him this dance—she had not even seen until now! Where had he been hiding all night? This was the first she had seen of him—of that she was sure, for at no other point had her mouth gone dry, her heart pounding, her body thrumming to life as it only seemed to do around him. She would have certainly remembered this feeling.

While Bulma strongly wanted to disagree with Vegeta about owing him a dance, she was a smart woman. Smart enough to know that Vegeta would not react kindly with being argued with in front of a guest, and even Bulma did not wish to push him that far. Plus, she was curious as to why he claimed this dance with her. Despite the dark look in his eyes, she did not think it was because of lust alone. Did he have important spy business to discuss with her?

So Bulma turned towards Viridian, smiling as if nothing had interrupted her, "Yes. I am sorry Viscount." She gave him an apologetic smile. "He is the host, you know."

Viridian, who had been eyeing Vegeta, turned towards Bulma with a smile meant to make her stomach flip again. Unfortunately, it had no such effect… what with Vegeta causing all of her senses into overload. The Viscount bowed over the hand she offered, leaving a small kiss on the knuckles, "Of course, Miss Briefs."

Before Viridian could leave, though, Vegeta spoke again, "Care to introduce me to your friend, Miss Briefs?"

Bulma looked between the two handsome men, quizzical, "You did not meet at the receiving line?"

Vegeta frowned at her, a proper scowl this time, "The Vegetasei's do not hold receiving lines."

Bulma swallowed, "Oh, of course." Why _of course_ she was not sure, but she should have guessed Vegeta would find a way out of talking to more people than he wanted to. She smiled as she turned back to Viridian. "Viscount Viridian, may I introduce the Duke of Vegetasei."

Viridian smiled, charming as always, giving a formal bow. "An excellent gathering, your Grace. This ball will be talked of for many years to come, of that I am sure."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed at the compliments, but he nodded none-the-less. "I shall pass your compliments onto my grandmother, Viridian. Are you new to London?"

Viridian smile became remorseful. "Not entirely, but this is my first season in years, your Grace."

Vegeta thoughtfully nodded before abruptly turning to Bulma, done with the subject. "My dance?"

Bulma blushed at the way he said _my_, but still turned towards Viridian. "Will I see you again, Viridian?"

Viridian ignored the stare that Vegeta was giving him, and took a step closer, kissing her knuckles one last time, "Of course, Miss Briefs." He paused, as if hesitant, before he continued, "I hope I have your permission to call on you?"

Bulma beamed. "I would be honored. You can find me here, during regular tea time."

Viridian smiled broadly. "I will see you soon, Miss Briefs." And then he was gone.

Vegeta was at her side as soon as Viridian had walked way, holding his arm out to her, even as he scowled at Viridian's retreating back. "I believe this dance is mine."

Bulma only looked between the two men, before frowning, placing her hand on Vegeta's arm.

It certainly was now, if it was not before.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, you guys have every right to be angry with me, because I promised B/V goodness this chapter, and instead I'm cutting you off here, right when they're going out to dance. But I promise that this is not just a throwaway chapter! Plus—next chapter there is no way I can avoid having Bulma and Vegeta…dance…. Who's excited?


	15. Waltzing with the Duke

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing, lemon

A/N: Happy Belated Valentines day to everyone! As a good romance writer, I should have had this chapter up by then- but life! So consider this LONG chapter my belated Valentines Day gift to all of my readers, my reviewers, and my lurkers. I love you all!

Lilpumpkingirl- I am so glad you are my beta- I seriously don't know anyone else who can help me with Latin…continue to be a beast!

Chapter Fourteen: Waltzing with the Duke

Bulma frowned as she placed her hand on Vegeta's arm letting him escort her out to the dance floor and away from the Viscount Viridian. They walked in silence, Bulma trying to recoup her thoughts, wondering why she always seemed to lose track of herself when she was around him. And now she was letting herself be led out to the dance floor, like a lamb being led to slaughter—forced to leave behind her brother so she could dance with this incredibly handsome, bull-headed man.

Okay, so it was not the end of the world—but it was the principal of the matter! How dare he just come to her and claim her—who did he think he was?

Her frown deepened as she answered her own question—a Duke, that's who. He had probably never heard no in his life. Bulma wished she could hate him for that, but if she was being honest—she had not heard no much either…

Bulma was mildly shocked from her own unhappy musing when Vegeta gracefully swung her in a circle, before catching her in the proper waltz stance, a very appropriate amount of space between their two bodies. Their eyes locked and Vegeta, a glimmer of amusement at her surprise in his eyes, very masterfully began to lead her around the dance floor.

She should not be surprised that Vegeta was a good dancer, what with the strength of his body and the way she knew he could fight so gracefully (remembering him, shirtless— on the ship and fighting Goku, still did funny things to her insides), but she was. Especially as she knew that good fighting skills did not always translate to good dancing skills (i.e. her two left-footed brother). Nevertheless, her heart was pounding as they twirled around the floor, losing track of her own thoughts as they danced.

Bulma's eyes were drawn into Vegeta's deep, obsidian ones, and she felt herself falling, falling into the fiery black depths. She was lost to everything but the two of them—no other faces were distinguishable then but his own, no other sounds but the beating of her heart, no other feelings than that of an extremely sturdy shoulder and hand she was clasped to. The rest of the room faded to shapes and colors, Vegeta was the only focus she needed in the world.

Bulma forced herself to look away trying desperately to break the spell he had cast over her. She needed to remember that she had a right to be angry with him. "You know you did not claim this dance with me."

Vegeta smirked, showing her a flash of his white teeth that she caught from the corner of her eye. "I did not hear you say otherwise when I claimed that I did."

Bulma frowned at him, looking back at him, "Do you think me foolish enough to disagree with you in front of a guest?"

Vegeta's smirk faded as he answered, truthfully, she noted, "I would have said yes earlier today…."

When he stopped, Bulma prompted him on, curious of the hazy look he had gotten in his eyes. "But now?"

Vegeta snapped back from wherever his thoughts had led him and looked at her, his eyes flashing as he admitted, "You are a woman full of surprises, Miss Briefs."

Bulma's eyes locked with his at that surprising declaration, and she gave a gulp as she saw the way he looking at her—like she was a puzzle he intended to solve. She had not known him long, but what she did know was that once Vegeta set his mind to something—he would accomplish it with alacrity (her own brother and their being in London was proof of that). What that meant, now that Vegeta had decided to set his mind on her…well she was not sure she was ready to find that out yet.

Still—something about looking into his eyes…. It was as if he could seduce her with just a look. She felt her body yearn to sway closer to him, even though her voice of reason stopped her from even moving an inch towards him. She concentrated on his words instead—his declaration of her being a surprise, well, surprised her. Bulma had always considered herself very open and forthright—but if he wanted to find mystery in her, Bulma did not mind. She had always wanted to be intriguing….

As the dance continued in silence, Bulma suddenly became aware of a familiar sensation outside of what Vegeta was doing to her—but in an unfamiliar setting. She subtly turned her head away from Vegeta, observing those around them, and noticed that everyone they danced by was silent, their ears turned towards her and Vegeta, straining to hear what was being said. She looked past the dancers, and noticed everyone's eyes on her, and she furrowed her brow. There had not been this many stares the other times she had danced—or at least not this many openly interested stares.

She frowned, but then realization hit her—she knew why they were all staring. It was not just her, for once, that was drawing the stares: it was Vegeta.

Bulma looked back at him seeing his eyes were slightly above her head as he led her, his face proud as he too realized they were being observed like animals at a zoo. Bulma sighed inwardly. She was used to this back home, and (even though she had made a grand entrance) she had hoped London would be unlike New York. She had anticipated that while she would garner interest due to her beauty, poise and (lets face it) wealth, she had not wished to be the one that everyone stared at treating like a precious object that was not to be touched. She had wanted things to be different…

But it was, she mused. At home, it was only her who got the stares. Here, though, the stares she received were for her as much as they were for the man she was dancing with. How had she not realized it before that moment? The Duke of Vegetasei was the catch of any London season (and would be until he got married), and attracted his own fair share of stares. What an interesting development. For once, it was not just her on stage for everyone to stare at—she was joined by one other (unwilling) actor.

Bulma smiled at that thought, desperate with the feeling to share it with Vegeta for a reason she could not pinpoint, "We have a lot in common."

"I beg your pardon?" Vegeta's eyes found hers again, and this time they were carefully blank, though his confusion—and derision, which on a tide of camaraderie she decided to ignore—was clear in his voice.

She tried to give him a soft smile, showing him that—for once—she was not trying to fight with him about something. This odd, unasked for solidarity was making her giddy, and she wanted him to acknowledge it. "You noticed the same thing I did when we stopped speaking, didn't you?"

With an artfully raised brow, his face revealed nothing. "And that would be?"

Bulma wondered at the tedium Vegeta put himself through so not to be judged, wondering if he felt the same burden she did to always be at her finest. Bulma was always careful in social situations to be on the best of behavior, as she knew if she was not—well the careful scrutiny she was under would only grow more bold, the whispers she was already subjected to louder.

People would like nothing more than to pull her down to their level, or to prove the perfect Miss Briefs was not quite so perfect. They wanted to fault her for all of the advantages she had been given in life—and while they loved her and wanted to be around her, they all hated her too. No one (she was not related to that was) truly wanted to get close to her—to know her, to know what her hopes and fears were, or what her greatest desires were. Maybe there was _someone_ very close to her that would understand all of these feelings…

Bulma slyly looked over both of her shoulders, before lowering her voice so only he could hear her. "That we are currently the interest of every single damn person at this ball."

He smirked at that. "Every _damn_ person, Miss Briefs?"

She nodded, emphatic now that he was looking at her again. "Yes. I've been getting interested stares all night, but this is by far the most I've gotten." She paused, and when he did not say anything, she continued, "I have a feeling you are used to this, though."

When he again said nothing, Bulma let out a frustrated breath of air, irritated with his ability to not answer the questions she really wanted him to, before declaring, "I am using one of my three questions here, Vegeta. Are you used to this? These stares?"

Vegeta frowned as she used her promise from him to get an answer, but he gave a small nod, none-the-less, honoring his promise. "It is the reason I do not make many appearances during the season. I find, no matter how many events I attend, I am always…" He paused, searching for the right word.

"…An oddity?" Bulma finished for him, smiling at the surprised look in his eyes.

He swallowed, working the muscles in his throat, but he gave her a slight nod, "An oddity. Yes. People cannot help but stare at me, especially if I do something out of character. Like I am now—by dancing."

Bulma frowned at that omission. "You do not normally dance?"

Vegeta's eyes lifted past her head again, but he gave a slight nod. "I never dance."

Bulma considered questioning him more on why he was dancing with her, but she decided to move back to the topic at hand. "Vegeta, we have a lot in common."

His gaze and tone were mordant, "You do not normally dance?"

She pursed her lips at his willful misinterpretation of her words, but she pushed on, not to be deterred by sarcasm. "Whenever I go to events I am stared at because I am the Briefs heiress, the genius who just happens to be beautiful, with hair a shade no one has quite the same color as." She took a deep breath, looking him square in the eyes, as she finished, "And I think you know what that feels like. To be stared at by everyone as if you were some sort of exhibit in a museum."

A muscle in Vegeta's jaw twitched, but his voice was stern as he answered, "It is a sign of respect. They all wish to be like me, but they know better than to try and approach me."

Bulma smiled sadly, hearing a close echo of the rationale she had said many times after being stared at all night. When she was younger, it had hurt more, wondering why people did not approach her and laugh and joke with her as they did others—but as she had grown older she had come to expect it, and reasoned that they were awed by her, their respect of her stopping them from approaching her. She did not know why she was being so candid with Vegeta, but she could not stop herself as she admitted, "It is a sign of respect…but it is lonely."

Vegeta frowned at her, his dark eyes deepening in anger as he spoke in his most Ducal of tones. "I am the Duke of Vegetasei—if I choose it, I can throw balls with five hundred guests every night. I am never alone, unless I want to be."

Bulma shook her head, smiling forlornly at him, not realizing she was clutching his hand tighter as she tried to make her point, "I did not say you were alone, Vegeta. I said you were lonely. There is a difference." She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling sardonically, "A difference I am willing to bet you understand better than you are letting on, your Grace. How many of these five hundred people do you call friend?"

Vegeta's frowned deepened, and when he did not answer Bulma had her answer. Bulma leaned forward the heat of his body warming her own as she whispered in his ear, "_Ante omnia honoria, observantiae et ante omnia_."

Vegeta reared back in surprise at the familiar Latin, his eyes searching her face. Bulma smiled at him, a wistful smile, as she translated (unnecessarily) for him, "Honor before all, respect before anything. Quite a family motto you have."

Vegeta's hands tightened around her, his mouth stiffening. "How do you know that?"

Bulma's smile turned into a smirk as the dance ended, though neither made a move to let go of the other. Partly because her answer was very important to him and mostly because Vegeta knew this was the only proper way to have her in his arms. "I have been living here for over a month. I have been through your family's gallery room countless times as I make my way to family supper. Your coat of arms is quite prominently large there—as is your family motto."

Vegeta's muscle twitched in his jaw, again and he felt a rush of nervousness overlay the desires he had felt for her all night. What else had she discovered in the family gallery? Vegeta tried to think of whether there was any evidence left behind of his immediate family, but she was looking at him with those big blue eyes again, and he felt himself getting sucked into them against his will.

He longed to do nothing more than to pull her body closer to his than was proper, to have her snug against him—to take those teasing little lips of hers and cover them with his own. When he stared into her eyes he seemed to lose all track of who he was, where they were, and what they were doing (thank God years of dancing masters had made it so he could maneuver a crowded dance floor dumb, deaf and blind!). What was this power she had over him? And why had it grown deeper when she had spoken to him about being alone?

Did she actually understand? Was she too at the top? Did she truly understand that by being at the top, one was forced to be alone? How could you be the best at everything if there was another standing next to you? Could she comprehend that part of the reason he acted so haughty in public was because it was expected of him? That people would love to see nothing more for than for him to take a misstep, and to prove he was just as human as everyone else?

Vegeta felt the urge to suppress a chill that ran through him as he felt a deep connection (one that had been throbbing to life between him and Bulma since he had first met her) solidify stronger than he had ever anticipated. He knew that he lusted after her, and that he had began to respect her as an intellectual—but what was this newer bond he could feel?

He was not completely sure, but he did know that he did not ever want to let her go. Another dance was starting behind them, and though they had moved out of the way of the new dancers, he had yet to let go of her completely. Despite knowing that dancing one dance with a woman was a sure way to start rumors about the Duke of Vegetasei—let alone two. Yet Vegeta could hardly stop himself from wanting to speak to her more, to see if she really could understand him. "Would you care to—"

Bulma cut him off though, speaking softly (almost to herself, it seemed) as she looked over his shoulder, "Is that Goku?"

Vegeta grew confused as to her question, but did not even bother to correct her at the use of her brother's fake name. "What?" Why was she asking about her brother, right after he had felt this connection between them deepen, growing? Was she so infatuated with her brother that she could blindly make connections with other men, then run right back into his arms? Vegeta expected jealousy at that thought (and it was there), but he was more surprised when he felt sadness—he thought she might actually understand him—but how could she if she was already thinking about her lover?

She was looking right past him and she stepped out of his grasp as she said to herself again, "Where is he going?"

Vegeta tried to recapture her attention, moving to stand next to her, even as she continued to walk away, "Bulma—"

But she was already gone, pushing past the crowd, who was failing at trying not to look like they were looking at her and Vegeta. There was simply not enough talking going on around them, too much looking pointedly in other directions. Vegeta ignored the others, for once, and frowned at where she had disappeared too. She was following Kakarrot she said, though Vegeta had not seen him (was she so desperate to leave his company to make a story up?), and his frown deepened as he saw her make her way to the French doors that led out to the Vegetasei property.

Whatever sadness and jealousy he felt were replaced with irrational anger when he saw her destination. She was going out into the gardens alone? Did she have any clue what sort of advances that could invite? The image of Viscount Viridian kissing her hand (twice!) entered his head, unbidden, and Vegeta frowned. He did not have to be present all night to know that many men had probably kissed her knuckles, and that many men were lusting after her, watching her, waiting for the perfect opportunity to get her away from the puritanical gazes of English society to do dastardly things to her.

She was a fool to leave the public eye of the ballroom, especially by herself, where any man could follow her out and make untoward advances to her! What kind of idiot was she?

Well there was only one way to rectify this—he would have to follow her out and warn her about other men that would be sure to follow her out and make inappropriate gestures towards her!

* * *

><p>Goku left the ball, quickly, unnoticed (or so he thought), and frowning. His feet carried him as his thoughts were preoccupied, straight to where Krillin was staying in the servant's quarters, needing to talk to someone. When he got to Krillin's room his frown deepened upon seeing that the room was empty, though he smiled ruefully as he deduced that Krillin would not be able to resist the temptations of watching the ball and all of the pretty ladies who were attending. Krillin always had had a weakness for women, one that Goku did not necessarily understand.<p>

Goku considered going back to the ball and trying to find Krillin, but sighed— as he knew going back to the ballroom was the last thing he wanted right now. Goku could scarcely breathe in the stuffy room, especially as so many women made sure that he was introduced to him. He could not take a step tonight without some older woman dragging a younger version of herself behind her, calling him Viscount. It was odd to say the least.

Knowing he wanted to be out of the crowds (but not necessarily alone) Goku started to walk again, and could not rightly say he was that surprised when his feet carried him to the kitchens.

They were much quieter than when he had left a few short hours before, the evening meal already having been served. Goku knew the scullery maids would all be trying to sleep so they could prepare the families breakfast in a few short hours, and he breathed a sigh of relief at finding the kitchens empty. Well…nearly empty.

Goku could not say he was surprised to see one lone woman still in the kitchen, muttering under her breath as she kneaded some dough with quite a lot of vigor. Goku could not make out everything she was saying, her Scottish brogue at its thickest (as it was when she was in high emotion), but he thought it had something to do with someone being the most popular person at the ball.

"Hey Chi-Chi."

The head chef turned, her eyes large, her hands stilling as she took in Goku taking his normal seat at the kitchen table, as if it was the middle of the day—not the middle of the night or during a ball thrown just for him. He might as well have been coming from sparring, if not for the fancy kit he still wore. She tried to keep the tremor of delight out of her voice as she questioned him, "What ere ye doin' here, Goku? The ball is still goin' stron' is it not?"

Goku nodded but shrugged, "Yeah—but I'm done with it."

Chi-Chi frowned, moving closer to him. "But it's ye're ball. Ye can't leave it. What's the matter?"

Goku played with the edge of the table, refusing to look up, "I've never liked balls. But usually…"

He stopped, and Chi-Chi waved her hand, motioning him on, "But usually?"

Goku shrugged again. He was not typically a man for conversation such as this, but he needed to tell someone. "Usually Bulma stays by my side all night. Well, as much as she can."

Chi-Chi's frown was back, her eyes narrowing, "Where's yer sister? What did she do?"

Goku smiled up at Chi-Chi and her reaction, chuckling, "Oh no—nothing like that. It's just that…she usually does not miss a waltz with me, since she knows I don't know the steps—when the last one started, though, when I went to get her, someone else claimed her and she danced with them instead."

Chi-Chi's brows were up, "Goku, are ye jealous of yer sister?"

Goku looked up, his brows raised with surprise. "What? Oh—no! Nothing like that. It's just that…we always have each other's backs at these, and we can both take care of each other. But when she was dancing with this other person, she seemed to be…I don't know…different around them. I could not help but think what's going to happen when Bulma actually does get married. Who am I going to talk to like I talk with her?"

Chi-Chi bit back a smile at Goku. He reminded her of a lost child sometimes—still like that little boy the Briefs had rescued from the woods. He might have the body of a full-grown man (and a good looking one at that to boot!) but she could tell he had the heart of a child. Pure, simple—and quite refreshing. Some strong maternal instinct she had inside of her reached out for his hand, patting it.

She was surprised when he turned his fingers up, linking them with her, and he looked her in the eyes, his black ones seeing straight into her soul. Chi-Chi tried to force her racing heart to stop beating quite so loudly, and she calmly told Goku, "When that happens, ye'll always have me. I'll transfer to the Viscount's house in the country when ye have to go out there, and I'll follow ye back to the city when ye have to be here. It's as simple as that. "

Goku's smile brightened at that, and he squeezed her hand, "Chi-Chi, you really are the best!" He looked past her, his usual happy-go-lucky smile in place as he peeked around her. "Now whatcha making and how quickly can I eat some?"

Chi-Chi ignored the squeeze of her heart at seeing his usual smile in place and tried to stop her head from spinning at his abrupt subject change. She just smiled as she shook her head, "Oh Goku…."

* * *

><p>Eighteen sat on the bench in the middle of the gardens, staring thoughtfully at the man next to her, her chin resting on her hand as he babbled on and on. He did not seem to have a stop button, but as he spoke about his life in America Eighteen found she really did not want him to stop.<p>

He was…amusing.

And, as an added bonus, he was taking her mind off of Vegeta, and all of her other worries, as she sat there just listening to him chatter. She had to admit she was surprised she was still sitting here with him just listening to him talk. When she had taken him to the heart of the gardens, she had originally envisioned using him as a quick physical distraction. But so far, he had made no advances towards her, or seemed to recognize any of her own—and they had been talking. Just talking.

Well, he had done most of the talking—but he had asked her questions and listened with these big earnest eyes as she told him bits and pieces of her background. Not all, or much of it—but he delighted in listening to her.

It was an odd feeling, to say the least. No one just wanted to listen to her talk.

When she was not talking—he was. At first, she had been scornful and sarcastic with him, as she was with all men—but it had bounced off of him like rain on a window. Nothing stuck, and before she knew it, she was just sitting there—conversing and listening to this man.

She was unsure of how long they had been out here, but she did not care. She had not felt this…relieved from the pressure of acting like an ice queen…since long before her husband had died. Maybe before she had married…

"…So that's how I met Goku. He can still give me a black eye no like other man can! I wish I had his natural skill for pugilism! Thankfully he does not box much professionally anymore since no one can really beat him. Leaves me with a lot of easy picking since I don't have a wealthy family to support—" Krillin stopped suddenly, perking up.

Eighteen followed his line of sight, but frowned at seeing nothing as he looked into the tall hedges, "Krillin? Are you all right?"

Krillin stood, moving away from her, and Eighteen frowned. This did not happen often—men were not distracted in her presence as they only thing they could usually focus on was her—and she could not say she liked this feeling of being ignored.

He shushed her with a hand, still facing the other way. "Did you hear that?"

Eighteen frowned as she stood, moving next to him, "No. I don't hear anything."

Krillin surprised her by turning to her, giving her another heart-warming smile, "Yeah, well that's because your ears are nowhere as large as mine!" He chuckled, and she found herself fighting a smile at his easygoing nature. He frowned again though, as he cocked his head to some unfamiliar sound, "Sounds like Bulma. She's calling Goku's name. I better go back to the ball, see what's up."

Eighteen looked at him, her mouth open. "You're leaving me?"

Krillin nodded, then froze, realizing what she had said. He turned a beet red as he rubbed the back of his baldhead. "Leaving you? No! I'm not leaving you—it's just my friends!" He turned to go, but then stopped, and turned back towards her, grabbing one of her hands and leaving a clumsy kiss on the knuckles of her hands. Eighteen froze at that brief contact, wondering what about such a sloppily executed kiss was causing her heart to skip a beat or two…her hand had been kissed by some of the savviest men in London—hell, in England—and she could not remember the last time one had pricked at her usually icy reserve.

When he caught her shocked eyes, he dropped her hand, stammering, "I-I-I'm sorry. I do have to go though!"

He turned to leave (running, it looked like), but Eighteen could not stop herself from calling out, "Krillin…wait!"

He turned to look back at her, and Eighteen put on a look that brooked no argument. "Come to the Grayson recital next week. I'll be in the gardens, waiting for you."

Krillin's eyes were wide with shock, but he grinned again, nodding his assent though it had not been a question, "Sure. Yeah—of course! See you there!"

Then he was gone. Eighteen smiled as he left, finally heading back to the ballroom—ready to face the devil himself in her current mood.

* * *

><p>Bulma frowned as she leaned over the balustrade of the balcony, wondering which way Goku had gone off to. Seeing him leave the ballroom by himself her older sister instincts had kicked in and she had begun to worry that she had somehow failed him if he could not even make it through his first ball without feeling the need to escape. She hoped he was not mad at her for not dancing the waltz with him. Had he even danced it? She could not remember. She was too busy being…locked in her own little world with Vegeta.<p>

As she went down the steps, into the garden, following the lit path, hoping to catch a glimpse of her brother, she frowned as she thought about the dance. Where had all that talk about being lonely come from? She was Bulma Briefs—she did not do lonely! If she got lonely she just went and invented something else that forced people to compliment her.

And yet, even as she tried to deny being lonely, she knew it to be true. Bulma was at the top of her game when it came to education, looks, manners—and that meant that she had a lot of people who felt inferior being around her, and as so, did not want to be around her even as they yearned to be in her presence to say they were talking with the elusive 'ice queen.' Even in the most crowded of ballroom, Bulma would find herself between dances, standing—with only Goku to talk to. It was why her and Goku had such a strong bond—he was an oddity since no one really knew where he had come from, and she was the glass figurine no one wanted to smash. No one in New York understood her like Goku did… Even if his loneliness was completely different than hers and they seemed to be communicating on two completely different planes at times.

Thinking about her loneliness was making her maudlin, Bulma reflected as she kept walking down the path, Goku forgotten as she reflected on her life in New York. She should not have been lonely (considering she was practically engaged before she had left) but some part of her recognized that Yamcha had the biggest inferiority complex around her than anyone else. She could not act her usual smart self around him, or else he would get defensive and closed off—and Bulma had hated that. She did not like hiding who she really was around him, but she had been a fool in love, and she had thought that it was all worth it to get someone to love her. If you were loved, then you definitely were not alone, right?

But then Yamcha had broken her heart, and here she was in a different land, with the same feelings she felt in ballrooms in America. She was surrounded by people, constantly in demand, but she was lonely. Tonight had felt like any other ball she had gone too…

And yet…

Not quite. Not after that enlightening dance with Vegeta. What was it about Vegeta that she felt like…understood her? She had sensed he could understand her feelings—that he too had gone through everything she had gone through and knew what it was like being on top of the world, sitting, alone. She shook her head at that—it was a scary feeling in and of itself, feeling a connection with Vegeta.

Bulma looked up from her thoughts as she stepped on a crunching branch, snapped back into reality, and frowned as she recognized how far out she had gotten from the house. She had wandered deep into the heart of the Vegetasei hedge maze, a garden ploy she could find her way out of very easily during the day, but looked decidedly more sinister at night even with the amount of fairy lights being strung up to add enchantment.

She could not hear another soul and that thought made Bulma wrap her arms around herself as she felt the drop in temperature from the hot, stuffy ballroom to the cool outside air. She shivered as she understood how isolated she was out here, wondering if there was anyone close by. She almost smirked at the irony of where her thoughts on loneliness had taken her—somewhere very remote and lonely—but she was too spooked to smirk. So instead, she desperately called out, "Goku? Goku, are you out here?"

Bulma frowned when she heard no response, but forced herself to keep walking through the hedge maze. She felt slightly better when she got to the center of the gardens, where a large fountain was lit up, the candlelight making the whole place feel decidedly more…magical. She stepped to the fountain resting her hands on the raised lip, staring at nothing in particular. Now that she was back somewhere that did not feel so spooky, her thoughts turned (as they did more and more it seemed) back to Vegeta.

What was she doing to herself? Why could she not flirt with the Duke like she had with the Viscount? What was it about him that just affected her so?

She took a few deep breaths, staring at her dark reflection in the glassy surface of the water, ripples from the splashing water distorting it slightly. She stared at her likeness, as if it could give her all of the answers, frowning as she caught sight of how the hours of dancing had affected her sweeping up-do. Locks of hair had come free, and she wondered how long she had spent without knowing her hair was starting to sneak down her back like a waterfall.

She let out a sigh, pushing back some of her heavy hair that had come free from its clasp, wishing that she could just leave it all down. Though, even she had to admit, the flowing hair only added to her already great beauty. What if she just moved it over one shoulder like this…

"What in the hell are you doing out here by yourself?"

Bulma jumped slightly as she heard an angry voice and whirled around as her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Who had followed her out here? As she turned, her eyes grew wide as she saw Vegeta storming towards her, shock, fear, and excitement mixing in her like some kind of dangerous cocktail. Anger was evident in the agitation of his voice, the harsh lines of his face, in the very way he jerkily moved, and all she could choke out was a very shrill, "Vegeta!"

He came up to her, caging her against the fountain, his arms on either side of her, as he growled at her, "Do you have any idea how stupid it is to come out here alone? Do you know the kind of men you invite to follow you out here?"

Bulma gulped, her heart racing, so shocked that he was angry at her she could only stammer the truth at him, "I…uh, I was following Goku."

He snorted in disgust, throwing his hands up as he gestured around them. "Kakarrot is not out here! It is just you, and who knows who else is lurking out here!"

Bulma's surprise at Vegeta's concern for her turned to anger as she realized he was lecturing her. "Wait a second Vegeta—you're the only one who followed me out here!"

Vegeta stammered, his mouth opening for a second, before he crossed his arms in front of him as he backed away from her, glaring at her. "I came out here to let you know how stupid it was to come out here by yourself!"

Bulma gaped at him, her voice rising, "Well why you do you care? It was my decision to come out here by myself, to look for my brother!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes, psshing as he rolled his eyes. "You're brother," he muttered, as if there was something off in that statement.

Bulma took a step closer to him, her anger warring with her attraction to this man. There was just something about him when he was angry with her—he was so dangerous (she was well aware of this fact, especially since he was a spy), cocky and pigheaded—and yet something in her responded to this, throbbing to life as he archly stared at her. Even more so as Bulma acknowledged that Vegeta was actually acting…in his own weird way…protective of her. If she was less angry with him, she might even categorize it as caring. But this was Vegeta—and the last thing she would ever associate with him (especially as he was all crossy-armed and growly with her) was that he could be caring. She fisted her hands at her side, half to stop herself from hitting him, half to stop herself for reaching for him. What was it about being angry with him that made her so…out of her head?

"Yes—my brother! Believe it or not, I've been worried about him all night. He does not do well in situations like this! I'm just trying to protect him!"

Vegeta frowned at her, moving a step closer to her as well, so he could look down his nose at her. Bulma gulped as she began to feel the heat of his body pulsating off of him in waves, going straight through to her marrow, but she stood her ground. "Protect him, Bulma? Is that all you're really doing? Or are you jealous?"

Bulma was completely thrown off balance by that one, and she stumbled back a step as she looked at him. "Jealous? Of Kakarrot's success? Are you out of—"

Vegeta exploded again, silencing her with a slash of his hand, "Enough! Do not act stupid around me! You are not jealous of Kakarrot's _success_!"

Bulma's confusion only grew, and she moved closer to Vegeta, her hands up, pleading, "What are you talking about? Vegeta—I don't understand—why are you so angry?"

"I saw you together!"

Bulma stopped, her head titled to one side as she observed him, "This is what you're angry about? Us dancing? Because I told Goku I would dance all of the waltzes with him since he does not know the steps. It's the same thing we do in New York! It's what siblings do for each other—we watch each other's backs! Not that I would expect you to understand!"

Vegeta's mouth snapped shut, into an angry line, and he moved closer, observing her, as he walked around her in a circle, unspeaking, taking in every nuance of her. Bulma knew she should feel humiliated from the way he was looking at her, or the way he was questioning her—but something about that hot stare, from the passionate outbursts Vegeta was having (unable to stop himself, it seemed) had her body prickling in awareness.

She might lose her head around him but his very actions were making it loud and clear that he too had a hard time acting his usual stone-like self around her. Knowing that she had this effect upon him, bringing out the protective monster in him (it seemed) had her whole self-stirring with emotions she could not name.

As he moved in circles around her, her body began to heat up again, her heart racing, her whole skin becoming more sensitive. She suddenly felt extremely hot, even in the coolness of the spring air, and she had to stop from fanning herself. She kept stock still, ignoring the way her clothes felt too tight, her bodice cutting off her air slightly.

Vegeta stopped when he was in front of her, having come to some sort of decision it seemed—much closer than he had been before, Bulma noted, and looked at her through lowered lashes. "You are telling me the reason you danced with Kakarrot so many times tonight was because he does not know the steps?"

Bulma cocked her head to the side, not noticing that it left her neck bare as all of her hair shifted to one side, observing Vegeta. "Yes. What other reason would I have to dance with him so many times? I mean, he is my brother…"

Vegeta's eyes flared open with triumph and—before Bulma could breathe—he wrapped his arms around her. One arm snaked behind her waist, holding her close to him like an iron band while the other found its way into her curls, tilting her head back. He bent his head closer, smirking that seductive smirk at her as he whispered, "Good," before closing the distance between them, his hot mouth lowering to hers.

Bulma was too shocked, too amazed, too astonished at what was happening to her to really respond at first. Vegeta had gone from anger to passion so quickly, it was making her head spin—and now he was kissing her? But then her shock at Vegeta grabbing her turned to excitement, and she felt her body come to life as his mouth connected to hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, her thoughts drifting away to nothing but feeling as Vegeta continued his assault on her mouth, kissing her over and over again, quick little pecks that dissolved into hot, hard caresses, her hands drifting into his coarse hair, holding him closer to her.

Even those brief seconds their mouths had been melded on the ship, which had caused Bulma many an agonizing night at the amount of heat and desire she had felt, paled in comparison to what was happening between them now.

Magic and heat erupted from where their lips touched, spreading a fiery heat throughout her whole body as the kisses became longer and more intense, Vegeta's firm lips sliding over her silky ones. As he caught her bottom lip with a quick nip from his teeth, Bulma let out a satisfied moan, her mouth opening to him, begging for more.

She could almost feel his triumphant smirk as he angled her head back, using her open mouth as an opportunity to slip his tongue inside of her mouth. Her heart was pounding so fast, her blood zipping through her veins so quickly—and an unknown heat began to pool in her lower abdomen that gained heat with each stroke of his tongue against her teeth, the inside of her cheeks, the roof of her mouth and finally her own tongue. She groaned as he took from her, urging her to become a participant of the kiss, her own mouth melding with his own. As Bulma become more daring, mimicking his own exploratory movements with her own tongue, she felt a surge of heat flash through her body as he let out a astounded groan at her boldness.

His tongue played with her own, the kiss becoming more demanding and drastic, and she began to understand why so many people said they lost themselves to passion. She had scoffed in the past—but this…This kiss was causing her knees to go weak, and if he had not been holding her, she thought that she would be on the ground in a pool. Her thoughts were muddled, only screaming at her _more! _Her lower body took on a life of its own, and she throbbed with sensations and desires she could scarcely recognize.

There were no doubts. Only sensations. The way his tongue caressed hers, the way he held her body to his, she could only feel, and she felt great. The way he held her to him, crushing her against him, using that tongue of his to stroke up more desire within her was so new and at the same time so inviting that she knew that anything he wanted in that moment she would have given to him gladly. She had no brain.

The hand that had been cupping the back of her head, pulled out of the warmth of her hair and oh so softly (but oh so devastating at the same time) began to caress the exposed flesh of her face then her shoulder before dipping down and resting lightly on the very tops of her exposed cleavage. Her breasts, which she had never paid much heed to before, suddenly felt as if they had grown in size, hardening, beckoning his touch. She inadvertently arched into the warmth of his touch, and his hand moved down, completely palming one of the breasts as his mouth continued to seduce and bewitch her own.

She felt her body begin to tremor as one of his bare fingers traced the exposed skin at the top of her breast, and she let out a low and loud moan, right into his mouth. At his bare skin on her bare skin, she felt her nipples peak, pebbling and tensing, causing her to gasp as they rasped against the suddenly abrading fabric of her dress. It was painful but at the same time so pleasurable she knew she did not want him to stop…

The same finger that had traced the tops of her breast, now slipped inside the top of her dress, and she felt an electric zing as the pad of his finger touched one of her already taut nipples, making her cry out with a pain that was more pleasure than anything as they tightened further, begging for more than the touch of his finer.

The loud cry seemed to be some kind of signal to Vegeta—and, without breaking his mouth from her own, Vegeta scooped Bulma into his arms, holding him to her as he carried her behind the closest tall hedge. He lowered her to the soft grass, his body covering her own body with the hard heat of his. His lips were rough on her own, no longer questing, but just taking, demanding more and more from her. She happily met his demands as the kiss became more possessive, more domineering—but more pleasurable.

Bulma wrapped her arms around his warm body, whimpering with delight at the way Vegeta kissed her as he held her closer to him, whatever space that was between their bodies disappearing. She was melting in his arms, turning into a mass of nerves and heat, wanting to do nothing more than to bind herself around Vegeta, and to never leave the heat of his arms.

As she let out a particularly loud moan, Vegeta muttered against lips rather breathlessly, "Does the temptress like that?"

Bulma had no response to that wicked question (as she was sure she had forgotten how to speak), but Vegeta did not give her time to reply, before he lowered his head to her again. Their mouths fused together, sloppily this time, both of them gasping for breath in the others mouths, yet unwilling to let go of each other. Vegeta's arms moved from being at her waist, to slide up the curves of her body, finding the full weight of her breasts with one of his palms again. He gave a squeeze, her nipple hardening further into his palm, as he let out another groan, whispering, "Or does the temptress like this better?"

Vegeta's hands traced to the tops of her dress, and gave a hard tug that belied his desire for her. The dress let out a loud rip of fabric and Vegeta smirked at that in pure male satisfaction, especially as he realized she was too damn far-gone to care that he had ripped the material of her dress, especially as it revealed her flesh to him. Vegeta pulled back from the kiss to stare down at the flesh he had exposed, his body thrumming as he stared at her. Just as he had suspected, no corset was necessary with a figure like hers—her curves were all her, not some creation of a shop maker. He felt like some kind of untutored youth, sloppy in his need to taste and touch her.

Bulma looked at him through lust dazed eyes, and he almost let out a crow of triumph at seeing how lost the little genius was to her lust. Not that he was much better as Bulma's hips pressed upwards, right into his, demanding more—Vegeta thrust right back down, letting his hard erection find the hollow of her body. He felt as if he did not find relief soon he would explode.

Vegeta's cock was ready and throbbing to be deep inside of her—she smelled wonderful, she tasted wonderful, she felt…amazing. Every bit of her was heat and temptation. He should not have been surprised at how passionate she was (really, he had been describing her as passionate since he had first met her), but the way she turned into hellfire in his arms was completely unexpected and arousing. He was not sure when he had made the decision to carry her behind the hedge to some soft grass, but he only knew they were here now, her dress around her waist so he could greedily see all of her.

Her breasts were pillowed out to her side, their fullness undeniable, even as she was on her back, and she arched towards him again, inviting him to cover her with his hands or her mouth—to just touch her again. Her skin was creamy and white, silvery in the moonlight, looking delicious, and her nipples were contracted from the cold air (and her passion), two plump dark red cherries, begging for his kisses. Well he would hate to disappoint…

Vegeta lowered his mouth and kissed her nipple, groaning as she shuddered against him again. Vegeta was unable to stop himself from sucking the whole tip into his mouth, hearing her gasp. He used his tongue to twirl around the tip, flicking her nipple with his tongue, over and over, switching between light pressure and harder sucking. Using his hand, Vegeta cupped the fullness of her other breast, not wanting it to feel neglected. His thumb lightly fanned out, over her nipple, before his fingers came to her, harder, giving her a soft pinch that she met with another delicious groan.

Vegeta could live off of the little sounds she was making. Every moan and groan she was making had him lose sight of himself as the cool, masterful lover he usually was—he felt like an animal, going off of want and need alone—something primitive in him heard the sounds she made and responded. Stimulus, response—no thought necessary.

Bulma arched her back, begging for him to never stop. She felt wanton, erotic and a whole host of other adjectives she could not rightly say she had felt before, but she could not stop herself. It was wrong, some part of her was trying to tell her—but how could something that feel so damned good be wrong? There was an aching sensation in her lower abdomen, that while extremely pleasurable, was still slightly painful, as if she was looking for relief from something, though she could not say what. It was a coil of heat, throbbing at her center, begging for some sort of touch…

Having the heat of Vegeta on top of her should have felt crushing, and yet, it was delightful. He was strong, and firm, all male, and while her breasts ached against him, her hands threaded in his hair, her head thrown back with ecstasy wishing that this moment would never end. No wonder people were warned of the temptation of the flesh—if everyone knew how amazing this felt, nothing would ever get done. Everyone would be too busy doing _this_ to do anything else.

As Vegeta continued his assault on her, Bulma's whimpers and moans grew louder, as she sought some kind of release for the torture he was playing on her, her hips arching into him, again. He let out a wicked chuckle against her breast, as if he knew something she did not, and slid one of his legs between her own. The delicious weight of him touching her, right where she had not realized she wanted, no, needed, to be touched, caused her legs to open further, then clamp around his leg, as he began to slowly rub himself against her.

Bulma's eyes popped open, her mouth opening with an, "oh!"

Vegeta let out another delicious chuckle, and moved his leg out from between her own, causing her to whimper, thrusting her hips up to him, begging for more. Lowering his head to her mouth again, taking her mouth in a bruising, life-sucking kiss, one of his large hands began to gather the material of her red dress up, higher, higher, exposing her legs to the cool of the night. Not that Bulma could really feel cool or cold with Vegeta's body warming her, his mouth and tongue heating her up to the point of feeling like she had just done some vigorous physical exertion.

When her skirt was rucked around her hips, Vegeta hand skimmed down her body, and found that place between her thighs where all of her feelings were concentrated. As he used his hand to cup her, Bulma felt branded as he pressed his palm into her, making her call out louder, again. There! Right there! God—how did he know that was right where she had been craving for him to touch her?

Vegeta, hearing that last groan lost whatever control of himself he had been holding onto and he reached for the buttons of his pants. He was unable to stop himself any longer from wanting to know what she would feel like, what sounds she would make, what her face would look like once he was inside of her. He needed to have her, all of her, _now_.

Vegeta was not even aware of whether or not he had even fully taken his pants off when he reached for her pantaloons, tearing those off of her, before settling into the cradle of her legs. Grabbing and pulling her hips, angling them, Vegeta took one deep breath, and then thrust deep into her scalding heat.

_Oh God. Oh God. Oh God_.

She was tight, tighter than Vegeta had anticipated and something about being inside of her just felt so…right. He could hardly stop himself from pulling out of her, adjusting her hips then thrusting into her again, letting out a loud groan—her name on his lips as he continued to push inside of her. Usually Vegeta was controlled when it came to having sex and he took pride in his ability to last much longer than the average man—now, he could not even think about anything but the sensation of being inside of her, of having her, of taking her fully.

Bulma's head was thrown back, thrashing against the ground, her hands pulling out clumps of grass. Whatever pain and unbearable fullness she had felt when Vegeta had first entered her was gone as she had adjusted to the size of him and having Vegeta inside of her. The pain was replaced by pleasure, and the unbearable fullness of him only added to it as he pulled out of her, then thrust back in, hitting a different spot than before. The ache she had been feeling began to lessen, the heat she had thought she was feeling spiraling out of control as her whole body became concentrated on where they touched. Before she knew it, Bulma was lost to this completely new sensation—her body taking over on instinct.

Her arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling his mouth back to hers for another untidy kiss, her legs spreading further as her hips found the fast and furious rhythm Vegeta was setting, driving up to meet his hips. Her legs wrapped around his hips as she felt her whole body heat up, as his continued thrusting created a fiery ball of friction inside of her.

Sharp shoots of pleasure began to build at her center, shooting out to the tips of her toes up to the top of her head. Heat, pressure, electricity—all of it mingled at her center—and as Vegeta gave one last harsh thrust into her Bulma let out a loud moan as she found relief from everything and lost sight of all as it exploded within her. Her body went stiff, before going completely slack as she floated outside of herself, riding on this wave of extreme pleasure and feeling that she had not even fathomed before.

Vegeta found his own relief not a second after Bulma went slack in his arms as he triumphantly marked her as his own as he emptied himself inside of her—too lost, and too dazed to do anything but hold her closer, kissing her as sensations and feeling overwhelmed him.

Suddenly, a crack of branch, and a sound (footsteps?) stiffened Vegeta—bringing him back to the real world with a crash. Vegeta stilled instantly, lifting slightly off of Bulma so he could listen again, and this time, he let out a soft expletive as he very definitely heard footsteps on the other side of the hedge. Vegeta drew himself out of her, buttoning his pants with one hand as he stood. Without a thought, he reached for Bulma, and pulled her to her feet as well, uncaring of her nakedness or of what they had just done as his senses went on full alert.

They would not be seen unless someone walked out behind them, and looked back to them—which was not going to happen. The last thing Vegeta needed at this moment was to have some houseguest find him and the American rutting—he would not marry some tempting chit simply because they had been caught in the hedge maze—all because he could not control himself around her!

He did not have the time or energy to be angry with himself or to overanalyze what had just happened (he just _had to_ follow her out here, didn't he?) as his spy senses took over—wondering who the hell was all of the way out here in the Vegetasei gardens.

Vegeta let go of Bulma to lean closer to the hedges as the footsteps grew louder, trying to see through the dense foliage. If he could ascertain just who was on the other side, he could figure out his next plan of action…

Bulma let out a groan as she tried to stand on her own only to fall into the hedges, unable to stand on her own two feet as she had not quite regained the feeling back in her legs quite yet. Vegeta smirked, knowing he had put her in such a state, but it quickly turned into a frown at her as she looked at him helplessly. He gave her a glare as his protective male instincts came up (he did not recall inviting those to enter him at any time at all tonight)—but hearing another pair of footsteps join those already at the fountain, he rolled his eyes as he grabbed her—holding her up, pressing her back to his front.

As one of his hands brushed against the soft underside of her breast, and Bulma innocently pressed back into his (surprisingly-starting-to-harden-_again_) cock Vegeta bit off a moan before it could escape. His mind might be sharpening, but his body (as it had just proved) was in control around this woman, not his mind. What was wrong with him—he usually had much more control over her body! Just what in the hell had he been thinking—taking her out here in the gardens like an inexperienced schoolboy, where anyone could stumble upon them! What kind of a fool was he around her?

Quickly he turned her, which he promptly regretted as he saw her body very obviously showing the signs of being ravished—red and swollen from his kisses—but he knew he was going to have to do it if he wanted any iota of sense. He started to redress her, buttoning the tiny buttons he had carelessly ripped earlier, glad to see that most of the dress could be closed. When she looked over him, confusion peeking through the dazed eroticism she had lost herself to, Vegeta put a finger to his mouth, then pointed to the hedges, where one could most definitely hear voices on the other side of now.

Bulma's eyes grew large as she finally heard the sounds on the other side of the hedge he was pointing at, and she stepped away from him—surprising him by fixing her clothing faster than he ever could have, and even managing to re-pin her hair so it looked close enough to what it looked like before it had been so completely ravaged by his hands. He quirked an eyebrow at her, wondering how much practice she had with redressing quickly, but she only shushed him (though he had not said anything), and pointed through the shrubbery where two distinct voices could be heard.

Vegeta frowned at her, but moved closer to her, and the hedge as it became clear the two people on the other side were whispering. Vegeta could not see the other people but he could hear them just fine if he zoned out the woman standing next to him (which was easier said than done). The voices were both males, and one sounded much older than the other one. He was unable to place them, or their accents though, and he grew frustrated as he was forced to listen to their conversation without knowing who they were. "You were able to enter the ballroom undetected?"

"Yes, father."

"Good, good. And did you see our target?"

"Yes. He is hard to miss."

One of them, the father, chuckled. "Of course. Well—good. What intelligence did you gather about him?"

There was a moment of silence, followed by a hesitant answer, "Father, I am not sure here is the best place. I think we need to meet somewhere else."

Another pause, but the other one must have nodding his acquiescence. "Of course—you were always smarter than my other children Green."

Bulma's eyes met Vegeta's in that moment, widening, and they both looked back towards the shrubbery, where two different sets of footsteps could clearly be heard as moving in two different directions. Looking at him, but keeping her finger up in a silent position, Bulma gestured to herself, one way, then to the other way and him—and Vegeta frowned at her. She was commanding him to follow one while she followed the other—a smart, sensible idea, but he smarted at the idea of being told what to do. Especially as he did not particularly like the idea of Bulma running after Zhelonie or his associate as he was a deadly spy—and she was just a woman.

Vegeta took a second to consider his options, cursed himself for being a fool, and grabbed Bulma, throwing her over his shoulder as he ran (ignoring the protests of her fists on his back) back to the back entrance of the house. He deposited her on the ground glaring at her, making sure his tone brooked no argument, "I will go after Zhelonie. You will go up to your room—or so help me God, I will carry you through the party like I just did through the gardens."

Her eyes went wide as she imagined the scene that would create. "You wouldn't dare!"

He crossed his arms, his dark eyes glinting at her—no longer with passion and longing, but with anger, "Try me."

Bulma stood, dusted herself off—glaring at him the whole time— trying one last time, "but he's getting away!"

Vegeta smirked, "I will not go after him until I see you enter this house and go up to your room—now march."

Bulma threw her shoulders back, and lifted her head high, "Fine! But it is your fault if you do not catch him since you're wasting so much time with me!"

Vegeta waited until he saw her walk through the door he held open, seeing her march determinedly up the stairs, turning at the top towards her room, that Vegeta let go of the door and began to run in the direction the heavier (and younger) sounding footsteps had gone. As he ran, Vegeta gloomily shot one last look over where Bulma had been in her rumpled clothing, his face set in a permanent scowl as he thought _you don't have to tell me that…_

A/N: Aww—Vegeta's protective side is coming out! Bet he forget he even had a protective side… Also, why would Vegeta be so afraid of Bulma finding out more about Vegeta's family—just what does he have to hide…hmmm… Anywhoo—I hope the long gap in pasting this chapter is made up by the fact that I posted a lot—just for all of you guys!

Also- anyone who is really familiar with 's policy on sex scenes, let me know if I should censor this one. Would hate to have this taken off!

Also, also everyone needs to check out Sami01's fanart they did for this story. It is amazing! .com/art/The-Dark-Duke-282468940


	16. The Morning After

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: Goodness, the reviews I get keep getting more and more inspiring. Seriously, you guys motivate me to keep writing! I love you all!

Lilpumpkingirl, thank you for taking time out of playing ME 3 to beta for me—if my writing seems more palpable of late—it is all her!

On to the story! Nothing like the harsh light of day to make decisions made during the magic of night seem…well…

Chapter Fifteen: The Morning After

Vegeta was up at his usual hour the day after the ball. After his years in the royal navy (and more recently, in his spy work) he had gotten used to going night with very little to no sleep, so waking at his usual early hour the day after the ball was not an issue. He was able to enjoy his usual solitary breakfast, with no pesky interruptions from his houseguests, a delight he had been unable to have since he had returned from France. Even the dowager was still in bed when Vegeta finished his breakfast, leaving the house with little to no ceremony as he walked at a brisk stride with a purposeful stride. Vegeta could almost fool himself that everything was back to normal, that he had Saiyan Hall to himself, and this was just any regular morning, just like any other morning he spent in London in countless years past.

Almost—but not quite.

On the outside he was as severe and austere as he always was, strolling down the street with an ominous look on his face that dared anyone foolish enough to speak to him. On the inside though, he wished the next fool who looked at him _would_ dare to speak to him so he would have a very valid excuse to beat the living shit out of someone, anyone. The feeling that everything was going wrong in his life was growing worse, and his thoughts had kept him from closing his eyes for more than a small nap last night—leaving him agitated, irritable and ready to fight. He had considered waking Kakarrot for a morning spar, but Vegeta decided he was in the mood to pound his frustrations out, not get into an almost even match that used his wits as well as his fists.

Last night had not gone as planned—none of it.

Oh sure, he had successfully introduced his cousin to all of society. He was sure that when he read the paper later today, it would be full of references to Kakarrot's introduction, and the success of the ball in general. Yet none of these thoughts helped calm him as he walked to the war offices with a list full of names he wanted the men who worked there to start gathering intelligence on. In all, his two overarching goals of the night had been met.

But only on paper—Kakarrot had been a success, but Bulma had been a bigger one (he was sure he would have to hear the dowagers opinion on THAT), and even though he was now heading to the war offices with a list of names to research, the biggest lead—the pair that Bulma and him had heard speaking through the bushes—had eluded him. It frustrated him to no end to know that he might have had Zhelonie a few simple feet away from him, and because he could not keep his hormones under control he had missed the man completely. If a man he was commanding had missed out on an enemy of the crown simply because they were tupping a wench, Vegeta would have had that man flogged soundly as a warning to others who did not think they could keep it in their pants (so to speak).

Vegeta's walking cane thumped fast and furious, his fury directed at himself for losing the opportunity to find a man who might bring him one step closer to Frieza. He had waited for years for an opportunity to get back at the Tsesarevich, and he might have let the biggest opportunity he had ever had slip away from him.

By the time he had dropped Bulma off, the tracks of the men had gone cold and though Vegeta had given a half-hearted attempt at finding clues about these men's whereabouts—nothing.

Truthfully, though, Vegeta's disappointment in his bad spy work was completely overshadowed by his disappointment in himself.

Just what in the hell had he been thinking—rutting with the American in his garden where literally any person could have walked around the hedge and found them? What had he been thinking—when he had followed her into the garden he had not expected to do anything but lecture her—but no. He had not expected the rush of joy he had felt when he had heard Bulma state that Kakarrot was nothing but a brother to her and he had grabbed for her blindly. If she had not reacted as strongly as she had—it was those damn soft moans of hers, the way she kissed, and the way she grasped at him that had caused his very sanity to flee.

He had told himself he was not going to get entangled with the American and look at how that had turned out. Not only had he tangled himself with her (so very definitely tangled himself with her…), he had done a slipshod job of it. For a man whose lovemaking was a practiced blend of technique and choreography, it had been a shock to find himself at the mercy of his own passions. Vegeta honestly could not remember a time in the last ten years where he had let his hormones dictate his lovemaking so ruthlessly.

Vegeta usually prided himself on his skills as a lover, taking the time to ensure that the woman he was with came before he did. His past lovers had always walked away satisfied, and he was not being egotistical when he said he usually heard through the gossip grapevine that he was the best lover these women had ever had. He never lost control of himself completely while having sex, and made sure that no one left his bed unsatisfied. Last night though…the way that he had so roughly taken Bulma was tantamount to a youth lying with his first maiden as he left boyhood, hurriedly entering her, thrusting a few times and finding release before the woman could blink.

Good Kami, what had been worse is that Vegeta was ready to take her almost as soon as he had cum, his physical gratification so great he wanted to do nothing more than find her, lift her skirts and sink into her sweet embrace one more time. He had hoped his cravings for her would abate the second he saw that she was just like any other woman—but this had been different. Her kisses had been drugging, the taste of her mouth and flesh the most addicting substance he had ever encountered. Being inside of her—even for such a rough mating—had been unlike anything he had known.

But this line of thinking was dangerous. He could never, ever be with Bulma again, no matter the amount of physical gratification he had found with her. This was it—a onetime only deal, and he knew that when he got back to the house, he and Bulma were going to have a heavy conversation. Maybe now she would see the wisdom in her leaving for her uncle, the Baron's, estate, rather than continue to live with Vegeta. Kami knew that he would have a hard time seeing her without wanting to be inside of her again.

And if that was not dangerous to his very well being, Vegeta did not know what was.

As he took the very familiar route to the underground war offices, he was pleased to see that here, at least, he was treated with respect (immediately) as subordinates jumped all around him to do his bidding. Vegeta did not come to the war offices often, but when he did, he always had people eager to please him. Not only was he a Duke here, but a recognized agent of the crown, and one who had earned his place—not something that could easily be said about the other aristocracy who worked with the crown. Minions not only shot to their feet when he walked by, they saluted him, recognizing his long-ago retired rank of commodore. It made for a nice change of pace, since his home life seemed to be continually spiraling out of his control.

Here, he was able to be the Dark Duke, all commanding and authoritative, and everyone listened to him. As he waited to meet with Basil, Lackeys were fetched to retrieve information about the names he had brought, and Vegeta was able to chat to a few other members of the war offices about what Russia was planning, and other problems in some of their colonies.

When he finally gave his account of the night to Basil, Vegeta was please that Basil agreed with him that he should not attend every event of the season as it would arouse too much suspicion for the Dark Duke to suddenly become a social butterfly. They needed someone to be on the inside though, and Basil was insistent that Vegeta should have a presence at these events so he could know more about what was happening.

"What about the Briefs girl? Do you think we can trust her to keep her eyes open at events?"

Vegeta's strangled reply was tantamount to, "HELL NO!"

Basil's hearing must have been going, though, as he nodded. "Good. At least we know we can have someone who can go to every event and not raise suspicion. I have some translations that I need to be done by the end of this week too—I will send them to your house by carrier this afternoon. Please pass them along, and instruct her to keep her ears open. Tell her I will send messages through you if need be."

Vegeta had to stop the glare he felt coming, and had given a nod, unable to open his mouth without saying something he knew he would later regret.

After Vegeta left the war offices, he decided to veer off of his usual course and to head to Jacksons. Though Jacksons was the premiere place to head for any gentleman who considered himself a pugilist, Vegeta had not gone there to exercise in years. Mainly because no one would box him after that unfortunate event with the Baron Lancewood—was it really his fault that the man was an idiot and had continued to taunt Vegeta until his arm was broken in three (or was it four) places? No—it was not. Plus, he had taught Lancewood, that idiot, an invaluable lesson that day.

Namely, not to taunt the Duke of Vegetasei.

Anyone who wanted to challenge him after that were upstarts looking to make a name for themselves by fighting the best, and Vegeta had always found them not worth his time as they were usually too green to get a real fight out of them. Today though, it would serve wonders for his bruised ego to go in, and kick the tar out of some chump who thought they knew it all.

When Vegeta entered Jacksons, the wizened old man who ran the whole gym looked up, his white beard and hair obscuring his face to the point of looking animalistic. Without his eyes ever opening, the man cracked a smile. "Your Grace. We have not been blessed with your presence in a long while. What can I do for you?"

Vegeta, never one to disrespect someone he actually felt respect for (a very rare thing, that was) gave a nod, tipping his hat in the old man's direction. "Master Korin. I have come in search of a man to spar with."

The old man's brows shot up in surprise at that declaration, but he leaned closer, taking stock of Vegeta, before he leaned back, thumping his ever present brown cane, chuckling, "Of course you have. Be honest though, you have come to pound some poor man's lights out, haven't you? You can't lie to the man who taught you how to properly fight in a ring."

Vegeta smirked—Korin had been one of the masters he had gone through while he had been a young duke who had been taught everything from literature to fencing from various masters. Korin had been his fighting instructor for a short while, when Vegeta's father had felt Vegeta was not picking anything refined up from Nappa's fighting style. He had been right, of course—and Korin had actually been someone Vegeta had felt he had learned a great deal under.

Once the dowager caught wind that one of Vegeta's 'masters' was nothing more than a common man who owned a pugilism gym (never mind that it was THE pugilism gym), though, Vegeta had found himself with a more 'proper' master. Who Vegeta had proceeded to beat the living daylights out of—and that had been the end of anyone but Nappa teaching Vegeta about fighting.

"Is Yajirobe around?"

Korin's face split into a wide grin at that, and he let out another chuckle, "Oh Vegeta, you should know by now that Yajirobe hightails it whenever he hears your name, let alone sees you walking through our door."

Korin's ever-present grandnephew, who everyone knew hoped to inherit Jackson's when Korin passed, was everything Vegeta despised. He was lazy, indolent, gluttonous, and expected that he would get everything he ever wanted without lifting one fat finger. Vegeta had managed to get Yajirobe into the ring once, and gotten in a fairly spectacular beating—until Yajirobe had pulled his glove off, revealing a wicked knife that was illegal in the sports ring, effectively winning the fight by cheating. Vegeta had never forgiven him for that slight and would desperately have loved to have settled old scores today of all days. Still, he knew Yajirobe was smart, and would not think that Vegeta would ever forgive him or 'go easy' on him.

Vegeta's frown deepened. "Hmmph. Fine. Who else do you have?"

Korin smiled as he leaped from the chair he had been sitting on. Vegeta winced as he heard what sounded like every joint in the older man's body popping and cracking as Korin moved, but Korin only grinned at him. "Don't worry, your Grace. Your pugilism is still renowned around here—there will always be some young blue bloods willing to enter a ring with you, the mere privilege of your glove touching their face worth the pain they will endure. We will find you someone—come."

Vegeta had followed the much smaller man, already cracking his knuckles in delightful anticipation of the fights to come.

* * *

><p>Vegeta distastefully watched the antics of the young man currently in the ring with him (an earl, if he was not mistaken), who was quickly throwing jab after jab—artlessly aiming for any piece of flesh Vegeta deigned to show him. Vegeta felt himself growing bored as he ducked another fast (but ungraceful) fist to his general head region and decided to end it all with one well-timed upper-cut that had the other man spinning twice before he fell to the ground, completely knocked out.<p>

Vegeta tapped the other man with the toe of his shoe, and smirked when he got no response. He looked to the earl's valet at the side of the ring, nodding, "You might want to try and revive him," and then left the ring, sighing.

It was his fourth knock out of the day, and Vegeta had to admit it had him feeling better. Whatever doubts he had had about his virility he had gained from his unskillful bedding of Bulma from last night were gone—yet Vegeta could not shake the funk he was in. Mainly because he knew he would have to go home now, and home meant facing Bulma, having a conversation he clearly needed to have with her. He would love to avoid her at all costs from this point on, but the fact that they lived together, and that Basil had basically put Vegeta in charge of her would make this nigh impossible.

Also, it could be assured that the dowager would pounce on him the second he walked through the front door with eons and eons of criticism's about what had happened last night.

Oh joy.

Vegeta grumbled as he stepped out of the ring, holding his hands out for some minion to unwrap the tape that held his gloves in place, before going back to the backroom where he could have a quick rinse and change back into his regular clothes. When this was done, he exited the main gym, and cricked his back, smirking at the satisfyingly loud crack of his back.

"Careful Vegeta, when you get to my age, a crack like that means you won't be walking anymore."

Vegeta smirked at Korin, "I thank you for the men you have sent my way today. They were satisfyingly easy to beat, which was exactly what I needed."

Korin smiled, his eyes still unopening, "Ah yes. Just what you needed, I hope. Not a single one of them a real challenge—but enough of a fight to get your blood flowing." Korin motioned with his hand, "Come though—I have one more fighter I want you to meet. An American, actually. I think you two should spar sometime."

Vegeta groaned inwardly, _not another bloody American_!

Still, he followed his old master back to a small training room ready and eager for any distraction from his own thoughts, or from the women he knew he would have to face at home. Once inside the darkened room, he saw a tall man standing at the middle, surrounded by men with bamboo sticks, who were attacking (or trying to attack) the tall man. The man in the middle, who was wearing a turban, had tan, tawny skin, and a tall, very lithe, yet still muscular build. As the other's rushed at him, the man easily avoided all of them, his face stern as he ducked and moved out of their way.

Vegeta calculated this with interest as he saw how fast the man moved, comparing him to the earl he had knocked out not an hour before. This man was fast (faster, even), but had the grace of a real fighter, something the other men he had fought today lacked.

Vegeta watched with growing interest as the number of people trying to knock the man down doubled, but the man refused to lose his cool. After a time the tall man began to attack back, and before long he was the only one standing.

After the last man with a bamboo stick was knocked down, Korin clapped loud and clear, drawing the tall man's gaze. The tall man gave a respectful bow to the proprietor of the gym before walking over to him and Vegeta, deftly stepping over the men he had just knocked down. Vegeta saw the man give Vegeta a quick, dismissing glance before he turned towards Korin, "Master Korin—thank you for letting me use your gym. I was surprised you had heard of Kendo, and thank you for letting me try and practice here." The man's voice was deep, reminding Vegeta of gravel, and something else…

Korin only nodded. "Of course. Mister Piccolo, I hope you do not mind an introduction so quickly after a fight."

Piccolo dipped his head deferentially. "Not if it is someone you think I should meet."

"Excellent," Korin smiled as he motioned to Vegeta, "Mister Piccolo, may I introduce the Duke of Vegetasei."

The tall man finally turned towards Vegeta, giving him a bow as well, murmuring, "Your Grace." When he lifted his head to look at Vegeta, Vegeta was arrested by the greenest set of eyes that he had ever seen shining from this man's face and he could only give a nod.

"I have heard much about your fighting skills while I have been here. Master Korin thinks very highly of you."

Vegeta grunted, and then frowned at the man as he spoke. His accent was odd—Vegeta could not easily discern it yet something in it irked him. "Mister Piccolo I was told you were an American and yet your accent is hard to place."

The tall man shifted his head and frowned at Master Korin, before shaking his head, "I am not an American, as I have tried to repeatedly explain to Master Korin. I come from across the Atlantic as well, but I from further north than America. I come from an Indian tribe in the Province of Quebec."

Some flag went off with Piccolo's description of where he was from, but Vegeta could not rightly place it. So he filed it away for later, and gave a small nod, "You are a far way from your home."

Piccolo, as if sensing Vegeta was fishing for more information about him only gave a soft, "Yes."

Vegeta stared at the man, assessing, but decided it was not worth his time to pursue more about this man right now. So he waved his hand, changing the subject, "Korin has said we should duel together and after having seen you fight I can see the merit in that. Can you come to my private residence sometime for a fight?"

The man did not immediately jump at the offer, which affronted Vegeta heavily—it was not everyday he went around inviting foreigners to come and fight in his back yard (present American guests excluded)—and he had expected the man to fall all over himself. Any other man in the whole of England would have been dying for a personal invitation from the Duke to come to his private residence. It was rarely seen.

Still, this man was a foreigner. Maybe he did not know how important Vegeta was? Vegeta decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, though he suspected the man was a fool if he did know that a Duke was the highest ranked aristocracy.

"I think a fight between us would be most invigorating your Grace, but I would prefer to do it here, at Jacksons." When Piccolo finally spoke, it was slowly but assuredly, letting Vegeta know that he was not one to make decisions impulsively. Maybe he feared an unfair fight at Saiyan Hall?

Vegeta could find no fault with the odd request though, and so he only nodded, "Of course. You will be here?"

"Every Tuesday and Thursday for as long as I am in London, your Grace."

Vegeta gave another quick nod, then tapped his walking cane, "I will come soon then, to test your skills."

Vegeta watched with surprise as he saw a flash of the man's sharp canines as he gave a smirk, "I will be sure to test your own, then," before he bowed one last time and walked away.

Korin smiled as they watched the retreating back of the tall Indian. "Excellent. I should sell seats to a match like this."

Vegeta only smirked, though he watched Piccolo retreat with curiosity.

Everyone had something to hide, and yet Vegeta could not help but wonder if this man's secret would be one worth exposing…

* * *

><p>Vegeta had not made it three steps inside of his London residence before he was assaulted with the overwhelming perfume of flowers. Overwhelming being the keyword here—Vegeta had to hold back a sneeze as his olfactory senses were overloaded with the smells of dozens of different varieties of flowers. Holding a hand to his nose, Vegeta's already foul mood dipped further down as he stared around for the source of the overpowering scents.<p>

"Jeffries!"

The competent butler appeared at the Duke's elbow in a second, reaching for his hat and cane with a polite tone, "Yes, your Grace?"

Vegeta pointed in the general direction of the smell, which happened to be everywhere. "Why does it smell like a French florists in here?"

Jeffries' face was stone even as he said, "Because we have turned into one, your Grace."

Vegeta, who had known Jeffries his whole life (and had never heard him tell a joke before) raised a brow, taken aback, "I beg your pardon?"

Jeffries motioned further down the hall, "Ever since you left, your Grace, the front door bell has been ringing—I fear all of London is trying to pay its respects to your American guest and has decided to do so by emptying every French florist in all of the city."

Vegeta processed the words, groaning as he put his palms to his eyes, trying to apply pressure to the headache he could begin to feel stinging there. No guesses were needed as to who the flowers were all directed to. Damn! That woman was already taking over his thoughts, were his senses no longer to be his own either? Would he have to endure scents like these for the rest of her tenure here?

"Are you trying to tell me that my damn house has become a flower shop?"

Jeffries nodded, before amending, "Well—not all of your house. Just three of your sitting rooms. Though I fear if we get many more deliveries we might have to use a fourth. The front door bell has hardly stopped ring—"

As if summoned by being spoken about the front door bell started to clang, and Jeffries hurried over. When he opened the door, a huge bouquet of blue flowers met Vegeta's gaze—whoever was delivering them completely hidden from view of such a large flower arrangement. "Delivery for Miss Briefs."

Jeffries gave a long-suffering internal sigh (hey, he was a damned good butler who did not show his emotions, ever) before intoning, "Follow me."

Vegeta, curious, followed the walking flower arrangement as Jeffries directed them to one of the sitting rooms Vegeta presumed was full of flowers—and was not disappointed. He had never seen so many flower arrangements together outside of tropical hothouses. Odd, though—they were all blue and red. Mostly blue—but a few dozens of dozens of red roses could be seen as well.

Jeffries tipped the deliveryman, and escorted him out as Vegeta began to walk around the room, in awe of how many different blue flowers there were to be found. Showed what he knew about gardening. He smirked, thinking about how Bulma catching him in a lie about gardening that had led to her becoming an accomplice of his in the spy world. He swiftly frowned at that thought, though, and entered the room further, seeking to distract himself by looking at the cards attached to the flowers, noticing a running theme.

_Blue, to match the sparkling of your eyes…_

_ These blue flowers do not quite match the loveliness of your gaze…_

_ Bluebells since your unique coloring sent my heart a ringing_ (Vegeta could not help but snort at that one)

_These red roses are almost as beautiful as you were in that gown last night…_

Not a very creative bunch, were these would-be suitors?

Every last one of the cards that Vegeta looked through mentioned Bulma's hair color and eye color, or the color of her dress. Hmmph. They said nothing about her musical laugh, or the way her wit was unparalleled. Nothing about the brains she so prided herself on, only about the superficial beauty.

Fools.

Vegeta was reading a particularly cheesy card from a man he would have to meet face to face in the House of Lords (leaving Vegeta wondering how he could ever face a man who thought that blue rhymed with flute) when he heard a familiar angry tapping. Before he could have time to use a side door to make an escape, the door banged open, and Vegeta was met with the sight of his never-welcome grandmother. Her eyes found him immediately and she curled a claw at him. "Come. We must speak."

Vegeta chafed at being ordered about so, and he forced himself to stand straighter. "I have just arrived home, and am not in the mood for a meeting."

The dowager's eyes were glacial as she responded, "Tough. We have things we need to discuss about last night. Things I think you would be very interested in hearing about."

Something about her words…they caused a tremor of apprehension to run down Vegeta's spine. What did his grandmother know? Could the reason she was looking at him so solemnly be because she knew what he had done last night? How had she discovered what had happened between him and Bulma in the gardens?

Vegeta seriously considered getting out of the conversation he knew was awaiting him with this vile woman, but he knew he was just pushing off the inevitable. The dowager was right—they did need to talk. Vegeta only sighed, gave a nod, then followed his grandmother out of the hot house that used to be his morning room, making sure to order Jeffries to open every damn window in the house to try and drown out the cloying smell of flowers.

Unnoticing, of course, that every window had already been open before he had even gotten home.

* * *

><p>AN: Uh-oh—the dowager finding out is pretty high up their on the list of things no one wants to happen (right below the rapture, but right above pestilence oddly enough)…

Anywhoo—I have to admit I actually really enjoy weaving more and more DBZ characters into the story, but since I do not watched the show as ardently as I did ten years ago (when I used to make lists of all the characters in DBZ I could name when I was bored in class—I think I once hit two hundred people in one period (true story—and also too much tmi…))—so in other words, if I remember a character and see a role they can fit in the story, there will probably be more 'cameos.'

Also, for all who did not check out *Sami01's awesome fan art (or if the link did not work last time)-check it out at now!

.com/?qh=§ion=&global=1&q=the+dark+duke#/d4o6afg

Or through a link on my homepage (username ~okieday17)


	17. Conversations with the Duke

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing and an appearance from the dowager duchess *shivers*

A/N: I want to take a moment to let all of my readers know (whether you've been with me since the beginning, found me a few months ago, or are just reading this story for the first time) that I love you all, and could never abandon this story. I've had this story in my head for years (it feels like), and want you guys to know that even if it takes me a little while to update, I will always find you return! I wanted to write this thing for too long to simply up and abandon it—plus that's not my style. I can't just leave the characters (or you guys!) hanging!

Big ups to lilpumpkingirl for beta-ing. She catches all those things I never notice, even if its my fifth read through of a particular part…for that, I owe you big time!

Also, keep those reviews coming. I read them all and hold them very near and dear to my heart!

Chapter Sixteen: Conversations with the Duke

Vegeta had not survived the war and years of being a spy without knowing when a losing moment called for reinforcements. And so, as he entered the ducal office with the dowager tapping angrily behind him he did not wait for her to take her seat as he turned to his always well-stocked sideboard. Manners be damned! As she clucked her tongue disapprovingly at him, Vegeta selected a vintage peaty scotch that always left one with a smoky taste on the tongue, and a vibrant punch in the stomach, pouring himself a full tumbler—he did not bother with ice, as that only took up precious room in the society dictated small glasses. When it was full, Vegeta took the glass, took a rather large swallow and looked at the amber liquid. Then (just for good measure), he refilled it to the brim.

What better reinforcements could there be for facing the dowager?

Turning to face her, the dowager did not waste time, her heavy eyebrows drawn down low. "I don't like her."

Vegeta was not a fool, nor would his acting the one get the dowager out of here as soon as possible, so there was no pretense of not knowing whom 'she' was. Hell—'she' seemed to be the only person he could think about. Why would the dowager be immune from the same affliction? Though he hoped the dowager's thoughts were different from his own…especially after what had transpired between them in the gardens last night.

He slipped into the chair behind the ducal desk, carefully sipping some more 'reinforcement' before he replied casually, "I hardly think that is a secret. You've made your dislike clear of her since she first showed up. To me, to her—hell, I think even the laundry maids know you do not like Miss Briefs."

The dowager stonily stared back at him, not bothering to reply to his jest as she continued in her same icy tone, "If it is possible, I like her even less now that she has been introduced."

Vegeta smirked into his glass, not meeting the dowager's eye. He should have known that the dowager would have held it against Bulma that she was the most talked about part of _their_ ball. The dowager had been undoubtedly waiting for Vegeta to get back so she could talk to him about what a damn nuisance Bulma was. The dowager had planned for weeks so Kakarrot could make an impression—not Bulma. The American had a way of screwing ones plans up it seemed…

Still, some of the tension eased from Vegeta's back as he realized the dowager simply wanted to talk about Bulma making a bigger impression than the new Viscount of Vegetasei. So the dowager had not seen anything between him and Bulma, had she? If she had, Vegeta was sure she would have brought it up to start with.

The dowager always had a good lecture inside of her, waiting to come out—and what better one than the tried and true, 'you're the head of the family, and as such, you must act _this_ way!' It had always been a favorite of the dowager's—first heard when Vegeta was six and had tried sneaking a dog into their ancestral home, and all the way up to... two days ago.

The dowager stomped her cane, reclaiming Vegeta's attention, and he realized she was waiting for him to speak. He obliged, wanting her to get to her point—now that he realized he was not going to be lectured for tupping the American. His secret was  
>safe...for now.<p>

"What did she do last night to earn your ire?"

The dowager's nostrils flared, her whole voice body vibrating with barely concealed anger as she spoke. "I was sure the American would do herself in by revealing her appalling manners to all last night, and that would be that. She would give up on her foolish plan to marry into the aristocracy, and go back to America." Her eyes flashed with malice as she looked him square in the eye. "But now she has become this season's incomparable! It's unsightly!"

Vegeta started to wonder at the dowager's raised voice—just what was it about Bulma that seemed to wring emotions out of the unusually unflappable (and unfeeling) Vegetasei's. Still, he kept himself calm and uninterested sounding when he responded, "Unsightly?"

The dowager nodded, picking up steam, speaking faster, "She is old enough to be considered a spinster! The way the ton was panting after her last night. Ghastly!" She shook her head sadly at that thought, before continuing, "They are only fooled by her facade of manners and politeness. They do not see the uncouth foreigner—they see the charming Miss Briefs. It is enough to make one sick, I tell you!"

Vegeta said nothing, only taking a sip. He knew that the best way to further infuriate the dowager was to simply be unaffected by what she was saying. So far, he saw no reason for why she was telling him all about this—he knew she had her other group of old cronies who's only pleasure in life was to hate anyone who just happened to be younger than them. What did she gain from bitching to him?

Her frown went further south as she realized he was going to persist in not responding in the way she had hoped, the lines around her mouth deepening. "Their names are being linked in the morning papers."

Again, Vegeta was not an idiot, and 'their' names did not need to be clarified. The dowager had come to him last night about Bulma and Kakarrot dancing, and he should not have expected that to be the end of it. That was the root of the problem, was it not? Kakarrot's prospects would be dimmed if everyone thought he was already ensnared by a woman who everyone wanted to be ensnared by. And if their names were being linked in the gossip rags... Truly, if he cared more, he could see why the dowager was upset.

Vegeta only drily replied though, "No one seems to be heeding them as a serious couple if the amount of flowers being delivered to Miss Briefs is any indication."

His grandmother stared down her nose at him as she snapped, "Don't try  
>and be cute Vegeta. You and I both know that their names are linked, and unless they avoid each other at all costs every time they dance together they will have the eyes of the ton on them."<p>

Vegeta shrugged, despite knowing that this was the truth. But this was hardly something he could even pretend to care about—especially after what had happened last night. Clearly, Bulma had no infatuation with Kakarrot. Otherwise...well, last night would not have happened.

Or would it?

Before Vegeta could let himself dwell on that thought, the dowager, sensing that she was losing him, stomped her cane again and reclaimed his attention. She was glaring at him, but Vegeta just took another sip of his drink, before sarcastically asking, "What would you have me do? Dance with the chit every time I see her heading towards her brother?"

The dowager seemed to consider this before she shook her head, frowning, "No. Your name was also linked with Miss Briefs in the paper today as well…."

Vegeta had to stop himself from making a spectacle of himself, shouting WHAT knowing the dowager would like nothing more for him to react to what she had told him. Instead he simply raised an eyebrow at her, sounding almost amused "Oh really?"

The dowager waved her hand dismissively as if she had not heard the amusement in his tone, trying instead to soothe the concern that she believed should have been there. She would be sympathetic when he needed none. "Nothing substantial. Just mentioning the only dance you had all evening was with Miss Briefs. That is not our concern though. We both agree that this woman is not suitable for Kakarrot," She did not wait for his agreement, before plowing on, "And that she needs to be taken care of." Her eyes met his squarely as she evenly said, "Get rid of her Vegeta."

Vegeta smirked at the dowager's ruthlessness. She was very single minded when she wanted to be, not letting anything stand in the way of what she truly wanted-it was a family trait, that mulish stubbornness. Still, the dowager seemed to pride herself on it more than most Vegetasei's. Vegeta, seeing the dead seriousness of the dowager's face, could not stop the imp inside of him from prodding, "Are you suggesting we off her for being a success? Tie her in a bag, throw it in the Thames?"

The dowager was far too serious when she answered, "No, I've thought of that, but she's too famous now, especially since she made such a good impression on the Ton. Those fools."

Vegeta was more surprised that he was shocked at what the dowager had said, rather than actually being shocked at what she had said to begin with. Of course she would have considered murder...though why that was an 'of course,' Vegeta did not want to think too much about. He kept his voice as even as possible when he responded, "Indeed."

There must have been something in his tone though, because the dowager gave him a pointed look as she continued, "She is only after his title—that's all American's are after. And we are not poor or undignified enough to need her money. If Kakarrot is to marry it will be of some high standing family with a titled history as long as  
>ours."<p>

Vegeta frowned, sensing the truth in her words, but having a hard time ever agreeing with the dowager. It was against his very being to simply…agree with her. So he ignored the impulse to do so, and stretched on, "So how would you have me get rid of Miss Briefs if it is not to murder?"

The dowagers eyebrows winged over her eyes, giving her an even more demented look than the one Vegeta was used to, but he only swirled the very tiny remainder of scotch in his glass, before taking another sip. He knew her intimidation moves well, but as he was no longer a child, they did not work on him like they used to.

The dowager shook her head at this behavior disapprovingly, but decided to save that lecture for another time, before giving him a sharp look, "There are things a woman can do that will her..." she paused, suddenly toying with the Vegetasei pearls she always wore, as if thinking for the right word. Vegeta felt a shiver run down his spine as her eyes snapped to his again, any emotion and sign of humanity that she had gone as she gave him a cruel smile. "...Unmarriageable."

Vegeta stared at her blankly, his mind turning to sludge as he tried to comprehend what she was saying. Well, he knew what she was asking, but he wished he did not. Still, he could not help but bluntly look at her, "Are you suggesting I seduce her?"

The cruel smile was still on her face as she gave a nod, and Vegeta had to fight back a strangled laugh that was trying to force its way out. The dowager did not know what happened between them, last night, did she? This was not some cruel joke she was playing on him, was it? But as he studied her, he saw how deadly serious she was. She was not kidding, and she was not playing a cruel joke- she wanted him to seduce Bulma, and to ruin her. Oh the irony—Shakespearean farces' were not this full of irony.

Vegeta closed his eyes for a second, wishing this whole encounter away, wishing to be anywhere but here, truly. The frozen tundra of Siberia would be heaven compared to this place. When he opened his eyes, and saw that his wishes had not been granted though, he let out a loud sigh. He should never have had this meeting with the dowager—he still needed to talk to Bulma, and this meeting was not making anything easier for him to understand. If anything, he now had to worry about the dowager's plans and how she was going to implement them, on top of everything else he already had on his plate.

Squeezing the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, he took a deep breath, blew it out slowly and opened his eyes. Vegeta noticed the dowager was watching him with undue interest, and so he forced himself to reply as calmly as possible, "No."

Her lips were pursed as she answered, her displeasure in his answer so apparent she might as well have been wearing a sign that said she was disappointed in him. "Vegeta, you will do this for your family—her reputation must be ruined, so she will leave. Kakarrot is ours now, he has been introduced. We have no reason to keep her around to appease him—she will only do more harm than good now."

He had to admit there was frightening logic in his grandmothers thinking, but it was too inhumane even for him. Maybe it was because of some misplaced guilt over taking Bulma so roughly in the gardens last night, or because he had recruited her into the spy business (a point he could neither admit, nor forget)-but the last thing he wanted to do was to send Bulma away for good. Basil would not be happy with him if he found out that the main reason a skilled interpreter (a rarity in England) could not work for them was because Vegeta had ruined her.

So Vegeta forced himself to take another sip, and meet the dowager's eye as he spoke to her slowly and calmly. "The answer is still no. I will not sleep with this girl because you want me to."

The dowager's lips thinned even further, adding to the overall menacing look she had. Something about her right now reminded Vegeta of a vulture he had seen while in the deserts of Egypt—a vulture who had watched him, waiting for him to die of thirst, glaring every time he would stubbornly stand back up, refusing to die. The vulture and the dowager shared the same look of immense disbelief in what Vegeta was capable of, and extreme dislike of him since he refused to do what they wanted.

She spoke lowly as she continued, "Don't you dare act as if I am insulting your prudish sensibilities Vegeta. I know what you are capable of. I even know all about your past mistresses." She paused before she added, "I even knew that I had to invite your latest mistress to the ball last night, as she is not someone you do not _not_invite to successful functions. Though the Widow did not remain long after Miss Briefs showed up..."

Vegeta frowned. He had not even realized the Widow had been there last night. He usually prided himself on his keen perception—he had a gift for noticing things that others did not, of seeing the things most people missed—but the fact that a former mistress of his had been present and he had not even been aware? Was Bulma blinding him so much that he was losing his touch?

Another thump of her cane, and Vegeta was drawn back to the dowager, who was looking entirely too pleased with herself. "I can see you are beginning to see the necessity of my plan."

Vegeta rolled his eyes at that, but leaned forward. "Let us hypothetically say I agree to your plan… which I am not," he reminded her as he saw her eyes begin to glitter even more than usual. He did not miss the way her lips became more pursed as he spoke, "What makes you think Miss Briefs will want anything to do with me?"

The dowager smirked, a look Vegeta recognized as the closest she ever got to a smile. She thought she had him, didn't she? She waved her hand at Vegeta's reasoning, "Oh I do not foresee a problem. For one, she is an American, and we know they have no strong moral code. For two, the women seem to lust after you. They all see you as a puzzle to be solved, a devil to redeem, a bad boy to tame—use those Vegetasei skills of yours for good for once."

Vegeta said nothing as the dowager stood, knowing she was getting ready to leave. Good, he needed to be rid of her to try and sort through his more and more muddled thoughts. Vegeta, knowing the dowager's penchant for having the last word, waited until she was almost gone before commenting, "What if I refuse to fall in line with your ridiculous plot?"

When the dowager turned to face him, her face was a mask of pure fury—an emotion that went far beyond her usual haughty angry self. "This is for the good of the continued Vegeta bloodline Vegeta! Do not tell me you have forgotten your lessons growing up! You know perfectly well it is your duty as the Duke to do some unpleasant tasks to make sure that our blood remains pure!"

Her raised voice brought Vegeta's hackles up, her furious eyes causing his soul to ice over, but her words hit him square in the chest. This whole thing, the whole reason the Briefs were here, the whole reason he even knew whom Bulma Briefs was (let alone slept with her) was because of keeping the Vegetasei bloodline pure. He did not agree with the dowager's horrid plan, but he saw the truth in her words. He was raised better than this—their blood was not meant to mix with Americans with no titles.

The dowager, sensing that she had finally broken through to him smirked again, stamping her cane one last time for good measure. "Good. Do this as quickly as you can—the sooner we can get rid of her, the better."

Rather than point out he never agreed to anything, Vegeta merely watched her leave, feeling all the weight of all of the worries from last night settle on his chest like a lead weight.

* * *

><p>Not that much later, Vegeta sat with the morning's paper pressed in front of him, reading the gossip rag with an unbelieving smirk on his face. How did the ton fall for this drivel? Nothing but names shortened to one letter (Lady H—, Sir C—, Lord F—), and salacious rumors reprinted to paper.<p>

Yet he knew that the Ton lived and died by these papers, believing anything that was in print. He shook his head—if that was not proof of the Ton's stupidity, he did not know what was. Still, his eyes had flitted from rumor to rumor, until he got to the part that the dowager had mentioned to him:

Vegetasei Ball, rousing success, as was the introduction of the new Lord V—, who was seen getting very close to his 'sister' Miss B— for four different dances (two of them waltzes)! Not to worry though—the very last waltz was saved for the _other _Lord V—, the only dance of the night he put in. Miss B— is showing herself to be the incomparable of the season. Definitely one to keep an eye on especially if she's with her 'brother' (Not to fear gentle reader—Lord V— is her adopted brother)

Vegeta's frown grew deeper as he read the article—yes his name was only used in the most innocuous of ways (a scold about not dancing enough?), but the rest of the article made him uneasy. If it was in the gossip rags, it was sure to be on the lips of every member of the Ton in London. Kakarrot and Bulma would be unable to go anywhere without being watched like hawks—and any matches Vegeta had hoped to make for his younger cousin would be for naught if the girls thought they were up against Bulma. He would have to get through to them the importance of only being the most proper of proper with each other.

With that thought, he sighed as he creased the paper, putting it down and pinched the bridge of his nose as another headache pressed against his forehead. Talking to Kakarrot about propriety would be a lost lecture—he knew Kakarrot struggled with even the most basic understanding of how society operated. He would have to talk to Bulma about it, appeal to her as someone who understood just how important this was for Kakarrot. She would not deny her brother anything…but this meant he was finally going to have to speak to Bulma. Something he had been dreading since…well, since he had gone to bed last night and realized he would have to talk to her.

He was lost in thought as he rang for Jeffries, the butler's entrance swift. Vegeta did not even look him in the eyes as he distractedly waved him off, "Bring me Miss Briefs, Jeffries." Vegeta did not even notice that Jeffries did not jump to do his bidding (as he usually did), and only noticed that the butler was still in the room with him when Jeffries discretely cleared his throat.

Vegeta, who had a thousand and one things on his mind, absentmindedly looked at him, "Yes?"

"Miss Briefs is entertaining in the Yellow room, sir—I do not know if she can easily extricate herself from the situation."

Vegeta felt his irritation rise at that little bit of news. Vegeta had been struggling all day with his thoughts about Bulma, and she was entertaining as if nothing had happened between them last night? Typical woman! He frowned at Jeffries as he realized what the butler was saying, "Just how many men are in the Yellow room right now that she cannot make her excuses and leave?"

Jeffries kept his professionalism about him as he answered, "Twenty-seven at last count, your Grace."

Vegeta was up out of his chair, cursing like a sailor, "Oh for the love of—," as he stormed from the room, the Yellow room his only destination.

* * *

><p>As soon as Vegeta entered the over-crowded Yellow room, his male vanity was slightly appeased as he saw those who noticed his entrance eyes growing round in shock (and fear?), shooting up out of their chairs or straightening from the perches they had been leaning on, tugging anxiously at their cravats. Those who had noticed him quickly made their excuses about places to be, leaving the room seconds after he had entered.<p>

Another handful of suitors were lost as Vegeta made his way to the center of the room, leaving like scared puppies as they noticed him, and after he asked one man to move (asked is too polite of a word here…especially as Vegeta barked at him "MOVE") only three men remained. Two of them were simply enraptured by Bulma, unnoticing of the presence of the Duke—but one of them, that damned Viscount Viridian, was sitting right at her elbow, chatting amiably with her as if he had not a care in the world. And he had definitely noticed the Duke, as he had shot him a smirk as Vegeta had effectively cleared the room, before continuing to talk to Bulma.

As Vegeta cleared his throat, catching the other two men's attention, one blushed getting up to leave. The other man, a little older than the other, saw Vegeta and got up and approached Vegeta, though whatever he had been about to approach Vegeta with had been lost as the younger man returned, and had practically dragged the older man out.

Vegeta, sensing that Viridian would not be an easy one to scare off, frowned at the man before leaning against the fireplace with his shoulder, so he could very easily glare at the pair of them. He would like to say he was listening to what they were talking about, but he found that the longer he sat there, the louder the blood in his ears pounded, his anger at being made to wait to talk to HIS houseguest (and the woman HE had claimed last night) grew.

He did not even turn to look at Bulma, whose back was to him, forcing the full anger of his quiet glare to settle pointedly at Viridian's head, as if this would cause it to explode. If only he had that kind of power…

The pair on the couch continued to chatter though, as if nothing had happened. That was complete bullshit—Vegeta did not believe it was possible for them to not know he was there—he had scared off twenty-six of the twenty-seven suitors in under two minutes—and Bulma had not noticed this? Please.

Finally, looking completely at ease with himself, as if he had not a care in the world, the Viscount stood, smiling at Bulma. The pounding of his own blood through Vegeta's ears abated just enough for him to catch their goodbye's. "I hate to cut this lovely visit short, but I have an appointment with my Valier that cannot be missed."

Bulma stood as well, walking Viridian to the door of the Yellow room as she smiled graciously at him. "Of course, I appreciate your visit Viridian. Thank you for the blue orchids."

Vegeta snorted at that, wondering if she even knew just which set of blue orchids were from Viridian, but he was ignored by the other two occupants in the room as they said their good-byes. It was not until Viridian made his final bow (kissing Bulma's hand again!) that Bulma even turned to the room, her eyes laying square on Vegeta.

Vegeta used the opportunity of her stare to study her—he did not know what he was expecting after what had happened between them last night, but he was almost disappointed to see that nothing had visibly changed about her. She was still beautiful, yes—but there was not the look about of her of a woman who had thoroughly made love to. He would have to rectify that at some later date that was for sure.

As he looked back into her blue eyes, Vegeta was surprised to see how well she masked her emotions as she smiled politely at Vegeta, as if just noticing him. "Your Grace. I was just about to go looking for you."

Vegeta, who had been dreading facing Bulma since he had left her and had really thought about what had happened between them had imagining the gamut of emotions she might throw in his face (anger, fear, lust, etc, etc) was surprised she was going with politeness. Had he imagined the encounter in the garden? Or was she even better at masking her emotions than he had imagined. "You were?"

She nodded as she rang for some more tea, before moving to the couch she had been occupying a minute earlier, smiling as she sat. She looked at him, as if she was chiding him. "Of course I was. We have numerous things to discuss." Bulma, showing some more of those exquisite manners she had displayed last night had waved her hand to one of the numerous chairs that had just been occupied. "Please do sit, your Grace. I feel tired just watching you stand there, glaring at the room."

Vegeta frowned at her as he chose to sit in the chair closest to her, so they would not have to shout to be heard, but considered moving as he caught a whiff of her usual lavender scent. Just a whiff of that, and he was imagining his face buried in her neck as he had entered her last night—Vegeta reared back as if he had been physically struck, noticing the odd look Bulma was giving him. He ignored her politely questioning gaze (who the hell was this 'polite' creature, and what had she done with the Bulma he knew) before he settled back in the chair. Right—he had come here for a reason, and odd behavior or no, he was going to have the conversation with Bulma he needed to have. "About last night—"

Bulma waved him off, cutting him off, "Oh, no—not about that. I know I danced with Goku too many times, and you do not have to scold me about that…." She gave him a pleasant smile, "Again." She actually chuckled at that, as if she had said something incredibly witty.

Vegeta was sure his mouth was sagging open, but he had a hard time stopping it. Just what the hell was her game? Why was she treating him like another of her fawning suitors? Vegeta forced himself to take a calming breath, forcing himself to stay in the present as he tried again, "Yes, I understand that—but you and I need to speak about the garden—." This time the entrance of the maid bringing a tea tray cut off Vegeta.

Bulma did not say anything as the fresh teapot was placed before her, expertly serving both of them their tea—somehow guessing that he took his completely black, while she added loads of sugar to her own tea. After they were alone again, Bulma was the one who leaned forward, her warmth invading Vegeta's space as she whispered, "The gardens. Yes, we do need to talk about that." Vegeta let out a sigh of relief that she was not going to dance around the issue, though his relief did not last long as she continued, "Were you able to catch Green or 'Father' after we split up, then?"

Vegeta was caught off guard by her question, wondering if she was being willfully obtuse—or if his seduction of her had been so sloppy, so not even worth it in her book, that she saw no reason for him to even bring it up. While his male pride cried out for him to wipe the polite smile off of her face with a long, thorough kiss that was sure to make her weak in the knees, his wits won out as he considered the question.

His eyes darted to the door of the sitting room, left ajar so nothing improper could be implied (not that that was bloody likely, Vegeta realized, what with her acting as if nothing had happened between them) and looked back at her, shaking his head, lowering his voice. "No—by the time I tried to pick up on their trails, they had gone cold. I even looked for any clues about to who they were, but there was not even a footprint to be found of the pair."

Bulma nodded, frowning as she spoke, "I was afraid that was going to happen—especially as you wasted your time getting me back to the house."

Vegeta's lips flattened in disapproval, his sarcasm loud and clear as he drily replied, "I'm sorry that I was concerned for your well-being."

Bulma lifted an eyebrow as she brought the tea to her lips, and asked with polite interest (when had she become the most polite creature on the face of the Earth, Vegeta wondered), "Were you? Actually concerned for my well-being?"

Vegeta made a non-committal grunt as he took a sip of his tea, avoiding her gaze, wondering how to answer that. Sitting with her now, in the sitting room, as she acted like a complete stranger to him, Vegeta would say no. But last night, he had felt an odd protective side of him clamor to be let out as he thought of Bulma going after Green by herself, and being caught by the able spy. He frowned further at that thought, and, rather than answer, took another drink of his tea, showing some biscuits in his mouth so he could not answer.

Bulma took no notice of his answer though (or, rather, his non-answer), as she put her tea down, putting a finger to her chin as she reasoned aloud. "Well what do we know from what we heard? We know this Green person is working with an accomplice—I thought in your report of him you said he was working with the Cold's of Russia?" Vegeta nodded, still unable to talk thanks to the amount of biscuits he had shoved in his mouth, and she frowned at him. "Hmm—interesting. I wonder who this father is then—not a hint of Russian or French accent. I could definitely hear the French lilt in Green's though…if it was indeed the Green we are looking for…"

Vegeta took a gulp of hot tea to get rid of the rust of the crumbs in his mouth, and then snorted at Bulma, "Who else could it be? How many spies do I have running around my estate who just happen to have that codename?"

Bulma looked thoughtful as she tapped her finger on her chin. "It is quite a large estate…"

Vegeta felt his jaw threaten to slacken again at her willful obtuseness, but then she shook her head, smiling at him. At least it was not a polite smile this time, Vegeta thought as she continued to talk. "Something just feels off about the situation. This Green mentioned a target who was at your ball, someone that they were able to see or make contact with." Vegeta nodded as he remembered the conversation, but she carried, on, "I thought the worry with Zhelonie is that they are thought to be working in league with the Russians to try and gain Britain's land holdings in Asia?"

Vegeta frowned as he fell into full spy mode. "Or worse…. Our fears with Zhelonie have rested more with ability to blend into aristocracy. We are more afraid that he will be able to gain holdings with the higher echelons of British society and do his subterfuge there. A spy in the upper ranks is always cause for distress, but more so with someone like Zhelonie who is rumored to have helped overthrow numerous monarchies in what are now Russian landholdings. A few well placed connections, and he can gain entrance with the King, the Prime Minister, or any number of people who he could blackmail, or murder, all for the sake of the Russian Tsar."

Bulma was contemplative as she spoke, "Of course—cut off the head, and the body will follow. If the King, or even the top of his advisors, go down Britain is ripe for the picking for another powerful monarchy to sweep in and take control of not just Britain's land holdings but Britain itself."

Vegeta nodded grimly. "Exactly." Vegeta had never had someone to talk to so openly about his work before—but he had to admit it was not horrible. It helped him to say certain things out loud, and while he knew he should trust no one, he found himself wanting to run some of his crazier theories past Bulma. Still, he did not get ahead of himself, and only informed her, "I have already been to the war offices this morning with a list of names I want them to do background checks on—hopefully we can get something from that."

"Good, good." She nodded, before she reached into the pockets of her skirt, pulling out her own list, "I have some names myself, but they probably match yours."

"It does not hurt to check." Vegeta paused, "Though I thought I told you to leave the actual spy work to me."

Bulma frowned at him. "Vegeta, I think I can handle writing down a list of names of people who caught my interest at a ball. Nothing more—no sneaking around listening with my ears pressed to doors or anything. I promise."

Vegeta's frown deepened, but then he nodded in acknowledgement. Never mind that that was exactly what Basil had asked Vegeta to ask Bulma to do from now on, something about it made Vegeta feel uneasy. What if she was caught? He did not dwell on that thought for long, as she handed Vegeta her list.

Most of the names were ones he had, but a few more were some he was able to either say no to right away (due to this knowledge of the Ton), though a couple were ones he had missed completely. He put the list in his own pocket, and frowned at her, "I had a meeting with Basil this morning."

Bulma cocked her head with interest. "And?"

Vegeta frowned as he relayed what he had been told to tell her, "He is sending over some paper's he needs translated this afternoon, and he wants you to talk to him through me," he paused, hesitating before continuing, "We both agree that my going to too many events would arouse suspicion. So I will only make my usual handful of appearances—I need you to be my eyes and ears Bulma."

Her face lit up, and she nodded eagerly. A bit too eagerly. He could not help but caution, "I don't want you doing anything more than keeping your ears open—you are not well known in the Ton, and the last thing we need you to do is to cast aspersions onto what you are doing, sneaking around the houses of the gentry."

Bulma frowned at him, looking as if she wanted to argue, but instead she nodded, "Fine. I will do nothing more than keep my ears and eyes open. You'd be surprised what people say around those they think are clueless. And I think we can both agree I can act more witless than the average pea-brain."

Vegeta smirked at that, and she smiled at him, blinking slowly, a moment of camaraderie passing between them, putting them both at ease.

Which immediately made Vegeta nice and uncomfortable as he realized that he had almost forgotten about why he had wanted to talk to Bulma last night. She had made him forget anything untoward had even happened between the two of them last night, what with her talk of work, and other things—and Vegeta had been lulled into a false sense of security. Damn, maybe this woman had a future as a great spy…

Vegeta knew he was stalling with thoughts such as those, and he sighed as he bit the bullet, knowing that they needed to speak about what had happened between them last night. Vegeta was not one to not face the consequences of his actions…

"Bulma, we must speak about last night—"

Bulma cut him off again, though not with the expected subject change, "Vegeta what has happened, happened. There is no reason to speak about it, as we both know it will never happen again. I think it would be better for our working and living relationship if we just ignore the fact that it ever happened." She looked at him, her blue eyes determined. "Agreed?"

Vegeta felt his ire rising at her speech—though he had to admit he could not have put it better himself, and that he was indeed going to say something along those lines…yet…it irked him to no end to know that Bulma would rather ignore everything that had happened between them than talk about it. How could she? She had enjoyed what had happened, it did not take an expert to know that she had lost herself to the passion just as much as he had. Yet she was sitting here, calmly sipping her tea and talking to him as if some monumental change had not happened in their relationship.

Vegeta felt an uncomfortable pushing in his chest, and his frown grew hateful as he wondered if for her anything had changed. She was an American and she was no innocent—and even Vegeta had to admit that last night had not been his best performance…was this her way of saying she was so unimpressed with him that it did not even bear her embarrassment at having slept with him? Was he worth so little in her eyes?

Vegeta's male pride was hurt at that, and he felt his anger growing again. He needed to get out of here before he made a scene worthy of Drury Lane. Fine—if she wanted to act as if nothing had happened, than he would only be so happy to oblige the bitch!

As he stood, though, he was unable to stop himself from glaring at her as he bit out, "I could not have put it better myself, Miss Briefs. Nothing happened between us last night—nothing that I will remember a month from now, that is for sure." She frowned at that, but he only nodded at her before left the room, using all of his will power to not turn back around and screw her so thoroughly that she would be unable to walk normally for at least a week.

* * *

><p>Bulma waited until Vegeta had left the room completely before she deflated like a balloon with a hole in it, letting out a long breath as she closed her eyes. She wanted to do nothing more than to fall into her bed at home (her real home, in New York) and sleep for a week straight.<p>

She had done it. She had fooled him—she had fooled everyone—but most importantly she had fooled _him_. That was what mattered the most. She was exhausted from the performance she had just put on—Broadway could not boast a better performance! It had taken all of her emotional willpower to be polite with Vegeta, to talk to Vegeta as if he were a normal male—there was absolutely no need for Vegeta to know just how much exactly he had affected her.

Last night had been a blur after getting to her room, but Bulma had woken much earlier than she usually did this morning. She found herself hugging her legs to her chest as she sat with her chin on her knees staring at the crumpled heap of her clothes that were thrown over the dressing room door from last night and fighting back tears as her thoughts had attacked her. Though the dress was red, Bulma had realized last night that if one looked close enough at the inside of the white crinoline that added to the volume of the skirt, there were some telltale rust colored streaks.

Bulma had let out a strangled cry as she looked at the dress, realizing that those telltale streaks were all that remained of her virginity.

She groaned, her forehead to her knees as she contemplated what the hell was wrong with her. Whenever she had imagined losing her virginity it had been with Yamcha on their wedding night in a bed. Hell, it did not even have to be Yamcha—but it would be with a man who loved her, who was gentle with her, who treated her with nothing but the upmost respect and love. She had not considered it any other way—and certainly not in the gardens, with her clothes not even properly off, by a man she could not decide how she felt about. Half of the time, hell, more than half of the time, she was sure that she hated him.

But the night before Bulma had felt drugged by the passion, thought gone from her head, feeling replacing any worries or doubts—she could not have stopped Vegeta if she wanted to (and she did not want to in the moment, that was for damn sure). And now she was in her bed, feeling very vulnerable.

What had she done? What was wrong with her? How could she have done something so…so…stupid?

She had not felt very much like a genius in that moment that was for sure.

As she felt the questions rising up to choke at her, Bulma had forced the tears that threatened to spill away and she had forced herself to take some action, to not wallow in her own thoughts. So she had gotten up, wincing as she felt some unfamiliar twinges in between her legs, but had moved on, ignoring them. She had taken the dress shoving it in the furthest recesses of her dressing room where not even a maid would find it. After she did this, she calmly used the fresh water in her basin to wash not only her face and hands but her inner thighs as well, clinically rinsing away any signs of the indiscretion that remained. She frowned as she studied her body in the mirror, noting that while there were some red patches from where Vegeta had kissed and suckled at her, not much else had changed about her body—odd. She had expected to look as different as she felt, that was for sure.

After she had gotten ready, Bulma had lost some of her nerve, and she had almost rung for her breakfast to be brought up to her. But at that same moment she had heard Jeffries wishing Vegeta a good day, and she had reconsidered—especially as not a second later, there had been a loud knocking on her door. Goku, never one for patience called through, "Come on, sis! I need you to come answer all of mom and dad's questions about last night at breakfast! Don't let me fend for myself—I need you!"

Bulma had smiled at that, shaking her head at her brother. Sure, she might have undergone a huge change last night, and felt as if she was another person completely—but she was still Bulma Briefs. She still needed to finish up her experiments on the blueprints for her steam engine, she still needed to go charm the socks off of the British Ton, and most importantly of all, she needed to go act big sister to a brother who would always need her.

Something in her, some bit of pride (okay, maybe some large bit of pride) made Bulma toss her shoulders back, and open the door with a wide smile on her face. If Vegeta could go about his day as if nothing had happened, then so would she. "Fine—but you really need to learn how to waltz—deal?"

Goku had smiled sheepishly. "Fine. But can we go riding first?"

Bulma thought of the soreness between her thighs, and shook her head. "Let's go for a walk today—I want to test my model ship on the Serpent at Hyde, okay?"

Goku nodded. "Sure—only if you let me play with the model ship."

She had laughed. "Deal!"

So Bulma had gone about her day as if nothing had changed inside of her. She had gone down to breakfast, surprising her father, but managed to have a very productive conversation about her work. She had gone to the Serpent with Goku and tested her model ship, working out how much power would be needed to move a ship a thousand times bigger than her model. When Bulma had arrived home, and she had seen the large amount of flowers waiting for her, knowing more were to come (she had no shame in admitting she knew they would) she had gone to the Yellow room and played the most lively, polite hostess that she ever had in her life. She had not rolled her eyes at the tired compliments about her looks, but smiled brightly at each man who brought her blue flowers. If only they knew her favorite were purple violets…

Oh, she had known as soon as Vegeta had entered the room. Not only had she noticed that her numerous suitors that had hastily departed as he moved through their midst, she had felt a very change in the air—she had known he was coming into the room before he had even entered it. Though that could be because she had been on the edge of her seat, waiting for him to find her all day today.

She was in the middle of a conversation with Viridian when Vegeta had entered though, and was not about to go about acting like a blushing schoolgirl. So she had not even acknowledged him until after Viridian had finally left. She was going to act as if nothing had happened, and kill him with her kindness. Even if it took everything out of her (which is nearly had).

Bulma gave herself a large pat on the back for surviving the conversation with Vegeta—at first it had mainly relied on her changing the subject (she was not lying when she admitted she had lost herself in their talk about Green), but when it could no longer be avoided, she had confronted Vegeta head on about what had happened and stopped him from saying exactly what she had said to him by saying it first.

There was no doubt in her mind that he was going to say it would never happen again (and it would not!), and Bulma did not delude herself with notions of Vegeta offering for her simply because he had compromised her. Hell, she was not sure what his reaction to what last night was going to be—and frankly she did not want to know.

He had shown no recognition of taking her virginity, and Bulma had to admit, she had not acted like some unschooled maiden when it came to what had happened between them last night. Not that she could help it that her body knew exactly what to do with Vegeta…. Still, she was sure she had not pleased Vegeta as much as the usual women he were with did (she was sure he was used to women who knew what they were doing), and she had prayed that her naivety when it came to lovemaking had not shown through. How dreadfully embarrassing.

Still, as she sat on the couch now, her head thrown back, eyes still closed, Bulma forced herself to stop thinking about Vegeta, and about what had happened between them. What was done, was done—there was no denying that. The only thing she could do was go about, ignoring the pangs she felt whenever Vegeta entered a room, and pretend all was right in her life.

Because she sure as hell was not going to go panting after Vegeta like every other woman in the Ton—that was for damn sure.

She was going to be this seasons incomparable, and she was not going to let some incredibly infuriating, yet devastatingly handsome Duke, change anything about that.

* * *

><p>AN: So it seems like Bulma thinks she can handle the Duke…but only if she can act like Vegeta has had no effect on her. Hmm—let's see how long that will last…. Also, why is that Bulma and Vegeta can't just have an open conversation about their relationship—it seems it would clear up so much that comes between them. But where would the fun in that be?

Until next time!


	18. A Lady Never Gets Lost!

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing (that will probably never change…)

A/N: I love reading your guys' thoughts on what I'm writing. Sometimes you are so spot on, it scares me—while other times your ideas are better than what I have planned and I might have to tweak the story a bit. Ha ha. Thank you for all of the love, and I hope you know (at this point!) how much it means to me.

As usual, thank you to my better half, my beta, lilpumpkingirl. I can think of no one better to bounce my crazy story ideas off of!

Chapter Seventeen: A Lady Never Gets Lost!

Bulma made her way from _yet another_ over-crowded and exhausting ballroom, winding her way through the intricate hallways of _yet another_ lavish mansion to find the ladies resting room. In truth, she did not even have to relieve herself or rest in any way shape or form. She was just so sick of being in the ballroom she had made one of the only excuses available to young, unmarried women who wanted to sit out a dance or two.

Especially someone as sought after as her.

It had been a tiring three weeks since her debut at the Vegetasei ball. She had been home maybe one night a week, every other night taken up with balls, garden parties, dinners, musicales, performances and a number of other tiring social events. While her social schedule was enough to keep any one person exhausted the refined lady act she had to keep up at all times made her even more exhausted. Even if it meant that she had proven herself to be this seasons catch. The men wanted her, the women wanted to be her, and the mama's looking for husbands for their unwed daughters wanted to kill her. In other words…same ol', same ol'.

Not only were the social activities of night keeping her busy, but during the day she had to spend untold hours drinking tea. Tea, tea, tea. Nothing but tea and 'biscuits' (aka COOKIES she always wanted to tell her British hosts—but she refrained because she was a lady, dammit), being poured down her throat as she sat through the stuffiest, most boring conversations she had ever been subjected to. She thought the women of Manhattan could do small talk—she was gravely mistaken. These London ladies could certainly give a lesson or two to the women of Manhattan of how to properly drone on and on about nothing substantial for hours. Bulma spent most afternoons chatting idly (for HOURS), while doing mechanical engineering equations in her head so she would not expire from boredom.

If she was not playing host at Saiyan Hall with a roomful of suitors, she would be at other women's drawing rooms trying to foster connections with women her own age. She did not fool herself into thinking they invited her to tea because they wanted to be friends with her, rather she knew that they were using her for one of two things. One, because they knew she was close with her brother and were trying to gain Goku's favor (hah! Good luck with that one—as far as Bulma could tell her brother was asexual), or two they were trying to use her own fame to bolster their own. But that was okay because she was using them too. For information, for connections, for a whole host of things that she hated, but knew she needed.

Not only was she busy playing little society miss, but her plans on the steam engine were going forward full speed ahead. She had gotten the blueprints for Vegeta's ship, and he had given her leave to make changes to it. She was able to work in one of his shipyards, with contracted men who she got to order about, refitting the ship with her new steam engine. She had been taking her model out almost every day to the Serpentine with Goku, or her maid, and had been running numerous experiments; she concentrated on working out how to control the speed of the ship once you got the steam engine working properly, and whether or not the advanced speeds were more likely to cause a capsize and how to counterbalance this.

Over the past few weeks there had been a few number of (unfortunate) test runs that had ended with her model boat, which she had lovingly named the Heiress, flipping over, or (more alarmingly) bursting into flames. So she had taken her time outfitting the larger ship, since she wanted to make sure that this whole plan was not going to end with her…uh…causing one of Vegeta's ships to go down in flames on its first trial run.

On top of her actual experiments and the society events, was her new job as a spy (oh how she loved saying that!). Bulma had really taken to the spying business she had to admit. She was translating new documents daily, using her vast skill of languages to translate things as mundane as Russian newspapers, or as exciting as intercepted notes. She had cracked a code that had long eluded the War Offices that was related to the British Empire's land interests in India. She was later informed by Vegeta her message had likely saved hundreds of lives on both sides of the lines by making them aware of a foolhardy plot that would have resulted in the deaths of innocent bystanders. If that was not enough to give one a happy feeling on the inside, she did not know what would be.

On top of that, once Vegeta had made it known that he was not going to attend more than a handful of events all season (so as to not foster suspicion), Bulma had really taken it to heart that it was up to her to let him (and by extension, the war offices) know what was being said at all social events. She had not taken risks like she had promised Vegeta, but she had kept her ears open and she knew she was keeping the lower-ranked officials at the war officers busy with all of the information she was passing on.

The only problem was that Zhelonie was still a mystery, and Bulma was beginning to grow as frustrated as Vegeta was that they could not pin down this one spy. Every time she thought she was getting somewhere she would find herself at a dead end, or with no viable information. It only added to the feeling of anxiety that grew over her whenever she thought about just what the Colds could be planning the longer she spied and found no real tangible evidence of who Zhelonie was.

From what she had read (as well as what had slowly been revealed to her, the longer she worked for the Crown) the Colds were a bloodthirsty lot that was not satisfied with their already large empire. Led by the next Tsar, Frieza, numerous countries had fallen to Russia expanding their ever-growing domain. But the government was cruel with their new territories, making workers divert natural resources to the extremely rich Moscow, the leaders of the country uncaring of those that they controlled. All they cared about was that their wealth, landholdings, economy and stomachs grew fatter, while the rest of their countries starved to death.

Not only that, but Frieza's reputation was one of pure horror. Numerous accounts of murder, rape, and torture—the man seemed to lack a soul. All he cared for was domination, uncaring of who he stepped on to meet his goals. Those around him hated him and yet could not stand up to him because of the fear he instilled in them. He was not above killing a few family members of those around him for doing something as silly as being late when he bided them to come. Truly, Bulma had to stop herself from shivering as she thought about what she had translated about the Tsesarevich.

But she was getting lost in thought, Bulma realized, as she forced herself to stop thinking about Frieza and instead take stock of where she was. She noticed she had not only gotten lost in thought—she had gotten lost in the mansion she was currently in.

Damn, and double damn.

These places were all extremely large with numerous hallways and turn offs that just happened to look exactly the same. Seriously—the economically puritanical attitude of Manhattan was not present here, architects more concerned with how it looked rather than how efficient it was. Something Bulma was starting to detest, as this was not the first mansion she had gotten lost in.

She had to think—had to concentrate. Had she turned left when she was supposed to turn right? She could not remember what she had been told…or where exactly she had gotten so lost. Curses! She was just going to have to turn around and hope she could find her way back by the chatter of the ballroom. Or that a maid or footman would see her and kindly direct her back.

Ten minutes later Bulma found herself slumped against a windowsill as she looked outside trying to use the stars to tell her whether or not she was in the east or west wing of the house. How damned lost could she be inside of one palatial mansion? She frowned at that thought when she realized the answer was pretty damned lost. She could not even find the North Star to guide her or any constellation, since the fog that seemed to hang over London at all times made it nearly impossible to see the stars. Bulma frowned as she looked below her, trying to see if she recognized the gardens outside of the wall…or even a street in the distance.

Double damn and triple damn!

Okay—she was going to try just walking a few more hallways, her hand on a wall taking nothing but lefts. That was sure to lead her somewhere other than here, right? It worked for mazes…but she was not so sure it would work for lost houseguests. Her last resort would be to find an empty room with a trellis or a waterspout she could shimmy down from the second to first floor. From there she would walk back around the house to either the front or the back where she could slip back into the ballroom and pretend she had just been resting. But that was her absolute last resort… she was sure it was not going to come to having to climb her way back to the first floor!

Fifteen minutes later, and Bulma had given up all pretenses of knowing what she was doing or where the hell she was. It was time for her to implement plan B. She was going into dark rooms and opening windows, looking for a good trellis or foothold or low first story roof so she could climb down to the ground. Expensive dress be damned—her pride was on the line here! She could not be found this lost in a home that was not her own! She would be thought of as snooping at best, and an idiot at worst.

She shuddered at that. No genius liked being thought of as an idiot when they knew how truly smart they were. Not only that, but if it got out that Bulma was wandering the halls of sir so-and-so's place, she was sure the papers would not hesitate to link her name to anyone else who was conspicuously missing and claim they were having an affair. Or mock her as an American—she hated even the thought of that, her teeth grinding as she imagined how she would be ridiculed in the papers.

But she refused to let it come to that! She was going to climb down if it killed her!

Bulma finally found a room that had a sloped roof right underneath it, which would make a good place to scale down to the ground. She was just opening the window in what she was assuming was a collections room (seriously, why did there need to be a sarcophagus in a home? Did these people have no respect for the dead?), when the door to the room opened.

Bulma instantly froze, her eyes going large, wondering whom else was in the room. Was the host coming to show off his large collection of creepy things to his guests? Just her luck tonight!

Fearing being caught with one leg out the window, Bulma pulled her body back into the room and flattened herself behind the large sarcophagus praying that there was no dead body still inside of it. She was crammed between the corner wall and the sarcophagus and unless someone walked around the side of the tomb she should not be found out. She had to only stay still, not making any loud noises and not let herself get spooked by the thought of a mummified body coming to life and grabbing her.

Oh that thought was _so_ not helpful right now!

As Bulma held her breath (trying to remain as silent as possible) she saw the glow of a candle move about the room as someone silently observed the room, looking from piece to piece, slowly perusing the large collection of oddities this particular household had. Bulma's confusion grew as nothing else happened—was someone simply looking around the room? Were they that intrigued by the artifacts Lord Bonaventure collected? Then why did they not come here with him?

The footsteps drew closer to where Bulma was, and she remained pressed flat to the sarcophagus, praying that whoever was in the room would soon be done. She needed to be left her in peace so she could go back to trying to sneak out of a window! She almost groaned, then, when she heard the door open again and another pair of feet joined those that were already in the room. What the crap?

The candle, which had been drawing closer and closer to her, drew away from her then, the soft light heading towards the new person in the room. She was left back in the shadows as she heard the footsteps shuffle towards each other on the wood floor, the glow of the candle stopped on the other side of the room.

A man spoke keeping his voice low, almost to a whisper, as he said, "A Keats poem is always quite invigorating, don't you think?"

The low reply, also a man, was swift. She thought she heard something familiar in the way the man said his r's—but she had met so many people, and the voice was barely above that of a whisper, so she could not place it. "Keats is for the untrained, a Pushkin is for the true scholar."

Bulma, who had thought she was confused before, grew even more so with the strange exchange. Um—had she accidentally found her way into the poetry meeting that she was unaware was happening in Lord Bonaventure's collections room? What was with the British and their vast collection of odd habits?

Before she could consider that too deeply, she heard a clapping as the two men's hands met (she could only assume as she was too afraid to look) and then a low conversation started…in Russian. "So you are who the Tsesarevich who sent to me?"

"Yes, Zhelonie," Bulma's ears perked up even further, her mouth sagging open behind the tomb. "You will find I am well qualified for whatever task you need."

Bulma's eyes grew large as she realized she had accidentally wandered into the one room tonight that Zhelonie was using for his spying! What were the chances of this happening? Maybe her luck was turning for the better! She threw her hands up in a triumphant gesture, thanking her bad sense of direction for once.

How exciting was this? Though there had been hints that Zhelonie was in England, there had been no confirmation—until now, that was. This had to be the Zhelonie Vegeta had warned her about! Not only was he speaking his Russian with a French influenced accent, but he had also mentioned the Tsesarevich! She forced herself to tamp down on the excitement as she heard them start speaking again, leaning in to hear them better.

Zhelonie snorted. "I will be the judge of that. For now, I just need you take this list to the Tsesarevich for me, and I will need you to take another in a week. I have no clue if I am being followed yet, though I doubt it, but the last thing I need is to be discovered with the Tsesarevich, or any Russian's for that matter. I am so very close to gaining an admittance with…" He trailed off, and Bulma frowned, almost stomping her foot in frustration. Admittance with whom?

The other man sounded indignant as he responded, "A correspondence? You have called me, the leader of the Ginyu force here, simply to deliver a message?"

There was a hiss in Zhelonie's voice when he spoke next. "Yes—and you should be grateful for that you miscreant! I have no clue why Frieza puts up with you or those showboat men you call _the Ginyu Force_," said in a completely mocking tone Bulma noticed, "but he told me to work with you. I need you to take this correspondence for me to him and if you do that correctly," his tone heavily implied that Zhelonie thought the man could not even accomplish that Bulma noticed, "Then perhaps I will trust you with more."

The other man sounded like he was disappointed, his voice haughty, "If you wish to waste my talents that way, that is your choice. But just know that the Tsesarevich is disappointed in how long it is taking you to complete your tasks—he is starting to wonder if there is a better…_team_…out there for doing what you are failing to do."

There was a gasp, and the sound of someone coughing (choking?) and Zhelonie spoke in an angry whisper that Bulma had to lean closer to the edge of the sarcophagus to hear. The voice that spoke was so malicious, Bulma felt goose bumps begin to spread up her arms as the heard the hate dripping from Zhelonie's tone. "How dare you. The Tsesarevich completely trusts me, and I will not have you spreading rumors about our relationship and how I am doing my mission. He knows I cannot hand him England on a platter in a day, and he will not listen to any upstarts who are looking to curry his favor by besmirching my reputation. Do I make myself clear?"

Suddenly there was the sound of someone wheezing, and when the other man responded, it sounded strangled, "Perfectly." Bulma put two and two together, realizing that Zhelonie must have grabbed the other man's throat and had been choking him, only letting go so the leader of the Ginyu Force could answer him. The other man had the smarts to sound scared and even Bulma pushed herself back further behind the tomb, closing her eyes and praying that they would be gone soon.

Zhelonie's voice was much more polished when he next spoke, a regal tone almost. "Good. Maybe you have proven yourself not completely worthless if you can survive being choked like that." The other man did not answer, and Bulma heard the sound of paper being passed, before the door opened and one of the men left.

Not a minute later the door opened again, the sounds of heavy steps leaving the room as well as the only source of light. Bulma found herself alone in the room completely slumped against the sarcophagus, uncaring of whether or not Cleopatra herself was in it. She waited to catch her breath before she went back to the window, opening it. She was almost mechanical in her climb back down to ground level. It _was_ mechanical (Bulma had always been an expert tree climber…well, ever since Goku, who was more monkey than man sometimes, had shown her how to climb properly), and she was lost in her thoughts of what had just happened as she completed the task.

Bulma was completely surprised that the men had not done a sweep of the room before they had their meeting, and was feeling like she had tempted fate simply by being here. Though to give the two men…spies…credit, what were the chances she, or anyone for that matter, would be that far back in the house? Or that they would be one of the very few people who actually spoke Russian? Maybe her luck was not as bad she had thought it was earlier. She had been in that room for a reason and now she had an earful of information she could pass along.

Bulma frowned, stopping as she hit the ground, uncaring of where she was at that last thought. After what she had heard she could pass along the information, and she would—unfortunately, that meant she needed to have a meeting with Vegeta, sooner rather than later to unburden herself to him.

That thought only had her groaning, cursing her luck (AGAIN!) knowing she would rather face Zhelonie than have a one on one meeting with Vegeta. How fun for her that she would get to experience both in a twenty-four hour period…

* * *

><p>The next afternoon Bulma sat in the library on the overstuffed couch that occupied the center of the room, her back to the door as she sat sketching the room she had been in last night. She had not seen hide nor hair of the people in the room with her, but she needed a clear picture of where she had been and what exactly had happened. She had already written down the conversation she had heard the moment she had arrived home last night, as what their voices had sounded like to her. It might not be useful to anyone else, but having heard them speak Russian, she was hoping she could place them if she heard them speak again.<p>

It was a long shot, but she was starting to understand being a spy meant recognizing the long shots and taking a chance with them anyways.

As she sat sketching, she heard the door open behind her, and she forced herself to not show even the slightest reaction in her body language, forcing her fingers to continue to move as she retraced the lines of the room. She did not even look up as the footsteps drew closer to her, or when she saw the familiar polished hessians sat in the reading chair across from her. She did not even look up as she said, "Thank you for meeting me here."

The gruff voice that answered sounded bored, "I got your note. Do you have anything to report to me? Or is this just another stupid question about my ship?"

Bulma waited until she finished sketching, forcing herself to show any reaction to the way his voice caused strange stirring in her, acting as cool as possible as she handed the book over to Vegeta. When she finally looked up, watching the angles of his face as he studied the sketch Bulma took a second to catch her breath, forcing herself to forget memories of how his face had looked as he had held her, making love to her. She banished the thoughts, putting them somewhere deep and dark in her memory, forcing herself to see him only as the man who was her link to Basil.

She waited until she knew her voice was going to sound normal, and then she spoke. "I accidentally stumbled upon a meeting between Zhelonie and another Russian spy last night."

Vegeta's head shot up at her proclamation, his dark eyes glaring into her soul as he studied her. His voice dripped with contempt as he mockingly asked, "Accidentally?" He shook his head, as if he did not believe her. "I thought we agreed you were not going to be going around with your ears pressed to doors, or looking for anything? Typical. I should have known you would not keep your promise."

Bulma did not even bat an eyelash at that, used to Vegeta's anger ever since she had coldly acted like him the day after the ball. "I was not seeking out information, or even thinking about spying. That is why I said it was an accident." She sighed, closed her eyes, and then opened them again, looking into his skeptical face with the most serene face she could keep around him. "I might have gotten lost last night at the ball. I needed to get away," he smirked at that, but she continued, ignoring the way her heart accelerated at the darkly handsome look on his face, "And I honestly just got so confused that I found the only way I could get back to the ball would be to…" she hesitated, and he arched an eyebrow. Bulma took an internal sigh, and curled her fingers into fists so she would not make a move that would give away the little hitch she seemed to feel whenever he gave her that exact, sexy, look.

She needed to rush through this meeting—this was exactly why she hated meeting with him! No matter how much she tried to tutor herself into not feeling around him, she always felt something. "That's not important. What is important is that I was in this room, it was completely dark, and two people came in."

Vegeta's eyebrow lowered as she did not take his bait, and he gave her another bored look as he waved his hand at her. "And?"

Bulma frowned as she looked slightly past him to think about exactly what she had heard. "The first thing they said to each other was about poets. One of them mentioned Keats, and the other…Zhelonie, I think, countered with something about Pushkin."

Vegeta stiffened, and she focused in on him as he spoke. "They mentioned poetry?" Bulma nodded, and he frowned, continuing. "We have long been trying to figure out what their verbal signal is to each other, to help identify other Russian spies. You might have overheard their key." His frown deepened, "But how do you know it was Zhelonie?"

Bulma sighed, "Because the other one mentioned him by name."

Vegeta leaned forward in his chair, "Okay—you have my attention. Tell me everything."

Bulma took a breath, then recounted everything she had heard. She pointed to the picture, but made sure her and Vegeta stayed an appropriate amount of distance apart from each other and whenever she began to feel overwhelmed by his presence she would look past him, outside to the busy street. When she finished she leaned back, putting as much distance between her and Vegeta as she could without being obvious.

"…Then they left."

Vegeta also leaned back, frowning as he stared past her, lost in thought. "Ginyu, Ginyu…give me a second. I have to go check some notes of mine."

Bulma nodded not moving until she had heard him leave the room, deflating like a balloon with the air let out of it. She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, forcing herself to relax, to calm down, and to stop being so emotional!

Bulma had realized weeks ago that if she was going to continue to spy (which she really, really wanted to) she could not completely avoid Vegeta. Especially as the two of them seemed to work extremely well together when it came to the spy business. Whenever she passed information on to him they would always discuss it, and Vegeta seemed to respect her theories. As a woman who was used to being ignored she had to say she found it gratifying that Vegeta would listen to her ideas, and hell, even point out when she was wrong in a respectful way.

And it was not as if she gave up spying she would not see him anymore. She still lived in his house, and it was not likely that she would leave before the season was over. Goku needed her more than she needed to give in to her desire to tuck her tail and run all the way back to America. Plus, she was quite lucky that Vegeta seemed to be avoiding her as much as she was avoiding him. Her life seemed to have gone back to normal, or as normal as her life could be…

Bulma had made a choice the day after the ball to pretend that she was a strong woman who slept with strange men in gardens at parties all the time and she was going to have to stick with it. She was the one who recognized that it was the only way she could go about acting as if everything was normal (you know, and not become a crumpled mess of woman she always read about in serials). She should have been more insulted that Vegeta had believed her so easily the day after the ball, she should be mad that he would easily assume that she was a harlot, but in this case his belief in her loose morality had worked in her favor. The only problem was since she had chosen to take the path of indifference she had to stick with it.

Bulma was, and would never be, an indifferent person.

Especially not with the man she had lost her virginity to.

But she had decided this was the best way. She modeled herself after Vegeta, and kept her emotions to a minimum around him, and stuck with nothing but talking about the spy game and questions about his ship. It was almost fun (in an extremely odd, perverted way) to say that she could act like Vegeta, putting on an emotionless mask as well as he did. She hated who she was during those moments, though. Bulma was a talker, a laugher, a shrieker even, by nature—not an emotionless being.

Vegeta seemed more annoyed with the new Bulma than anything. Sure, he met with her because he had to, but he seemed irritated and full of anger whenever they did meet. He was contemptuous, and seemed to have grown even more sarcastic since they had first met. She wondered what he had to be so angry with her for, but did not question it as his anger proved to be yet another convenient buffer between them.

A few weeks ago when she had realized that her and Vegeta would need to meet alone from time to time for the spy business, Bulma had done her homework, and chosen the best room to meet in. The library was a large room with furniture that was spaced widely apart, ensuring that they would not get too close. Not only that, but it had a large bay window that faced a busy street.

Bulma always ensured that they met in the afternoon when the curtains would be drawn wide, and people would be milling about around outside. Vegeta was not going to make a move on her (though he really shown no inclination to do so since the night of the ball) when people from the street could look in and see what they were doing. Not only that, but the library was one of the least visited rooms in the whole house. Even if they had the door wide open, as long as they spoke in low voices they were not going to be overheard. Especially as the dowager detested women who read ('bluestockings' she liked to call them) and was unlikely to make her way to the library to pick a book to read on any given day.

In the library Bulma could be given the best of both worlds. A private place where her and Vegeta could meet, but a big enough place with enough accountability that they were never truly alone. Bulma found that being alone with Vegeta was just asking for trouble, as she thought back to the times before she had entered the spy game when they had been alone. They had usually ended with Bulma fleeing as desire coursed through her body…

As the object of her desire walked back in the room, Bulma shot back up as if she always sat as prim and proper as possible, even when alone in rooms. Vegeta hardly noticed though as he was absorbed in a file he was flipping through as he stood across from her, a frown marring his face. She resisted the suddenly strong urge she had to reach up and stroke the frown from his face, once again clenching her hands into fists in order to control her errant body.

When Vegeta finally found what he was looking for in the file, he gave a small smirk and took his seat Bulma's heart racing faster. This meeting would have to end soon—she was starting to grow fanciful, and lust was starting to cloud her judgment.

Vegeta did not notice, though, as he looked up at her. "Ginyu is a long suspected code name for a troupe that works for the Tsesarevich. We have suspicions that they work in the theater or opera world."

Bulma nodded. "That would make sense as Zhelonie did call the 'Ginyu force' showboat men. Not only that, but by being in an acting troupe they would have perfect opportunities to travel between here and Moscow with their show, or other places controlled by Frieza. It would be almost too easy to sneak messages and information across war lines as an actor who is part of a traveling show."

Vegeta nodded, contemplative. A silence descended over the two of them, and Bulma looked down at the sketchbook she had taken back from Vegeta, forcing herself to not stare at Vegeta as he sat there, brooding all handsome-like. She had thought after everything she had gone through with Vegeta she would no longer be affected by looking at him. But now she found herself desperate with a need for him that seemed to get under her skin. If he got too close the heat of his body seemed to wash over her and she had a burning desire to press herself against him again. Even his scent seemed to be doing something to her insides, and if she looked at him too long…he really was too good looking.

At least he had not smiled at her—she really could not resist that smile. Lately, all he could do was frown at her. At best, she would get a smirk (which was almost as dangerous as his smile).

Vegeta spoke, his voice bringing her back to the present, "When is the next time you are going to the theater as part of your social engagements?"

Bulma thought for a second, mentally flipping through her social calendar. "Next week. The Viscount Viridian has invited us to join him at the theater."

Vegeta sneered at hearing Viridian's name, "Does Viridian have a box?"

Bulma shrugged. "I think so. I would have to check with him."

Vegeta flicked his wrist, "Don't bother. His box will not be as nice or as centrally located as the ducal one I have."

Bulma frowned at him, "Well that's a shame I'll be missing it as I already told Viridian I would sit with him."

Vegeta met her eyes and as their eyes locked Bulma saw a flash of the fire she recognized, beneath his facade of coolness, as he spoke softly. "Then invite him to join us in our box. But I am going, and if I am going you and Kakarrot will be sitting with me." He stood, keeping his eyes locked with hers as he spoke clearly, "And that is final."

Bulma bit her tongue from barbing him right back—and she saw him raise an eyebrow, as if waiting for her to say something. She thought he might be provoking her, testing her to see if he could get a reaction out of her, but Bulma only gave him a nod. "I will write him and let him know."

Vegeta's frown deepened, the notches between his eyebrows getting deeper as he stared at her, glaring, before he finally broke eye contact as he turned to go.

"Oh Vegeta." He turned back to look at her, and Bulma really wished she could have let him go. But there was one last thing she needed to tell him. "The voices I heard last night…neither of them matched up with the voices we heard in the garden the night of the ball."

Vegeta's eyebrow rose, "You are sure?"

Bulma nodded, "Yes. There was no reference to Green, and there was definitely no mention of 'Father.'"

Vegeta gave a slow nod, and then glowered in frustration. "It seems as if the night of the ball then, we just happened to be in one of the most coincidental predicaments ever. Now we just need to find out who this other 'Green' is and what the hell he wants."

Bulma gave a nod meeting his eyes for a second before she looked away from the intense stare he was giving her, gulping, not turning as she heard him leave the room.

She waited until she knew she would be alone until she uncurled her fists, flexing her fingers, idly looking at where her nails had bit into her palms, not at all surprised to see she had drawn blood.

* * *

><p>AN: Two different spies who have the same code-name? What are the chances? Well…this is my fanfiction, so I would say rather high. Ha ha. But still—how long can Bulma keep up the ice queen act? And what is this list she overheard the Ginyu Force and Zhelonie speaking about?

Tune in next time for a trip to the opera!


	19. A Night at the Opera

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing and Lemon. You know what that means someone finally gave in an made the first move…But who?

A/N: Readers—you know I love you. Reviewers—your reviews always make me smile, even when I'm in the shittiest of moods, and inspire me to write more. Thank you.

Lilpumpkingirl, for the first time ever you had to add comma's into my chapter. I think its safe to say your lesson of less comma's is more is paying off! Thanks for everything!

Chapter Eighteen: A Night at the Opera

Vegeta was not a fan of the theater. Watching other people traipse around in costumes and makeup for three hours as they lamented about their lives and love (it was ALWAYS about love Vegeta found), or overact as they tried to be funny was Vegeta's idea of hell, truth be told. He could never understand why going to the theater had gained such popularity among the British peer, as it seemed to be an entertainment staged purposefully for the lower classes. What was the point of watching others' lives, he always thought, when the British aristocratic life was probably one of the most comfortable out there?

And opera…Vegeta gave an extremely loud groan as he thought about opera. Opera was his own personal version of his hell—aging, expanding actors and actresses supposed to be playing heartthrobs half their age and size? Having to sit through three plus hours of wailing that could be said in a third of that time? Yeah—definitely not his idea of a fun night. Especially since he had a million other things that needed to be accomplished that did not involve Vegeta sitting in a darkened theater, trying to pretend he cared about what was happening on the stage before him.

So needless to say, Vegeta had not had high hopes for this night at the theater, particularly after he had found out that it was a Rossini opera—that had a run time of four hours. But to say this night was turning out worse than was expected was the greatest form of understatement. Which spoke high levels to the amount of inner anguish he was feeling at being at the opera that actually had nothing to do with being at the opera. His pain came not from the labored acting on stage, but rather, the two people he was currently seated behind. The only thing that would have made it worse would be if the dowager herself had decided to accompany them (thank Kami she had not!).

The party to the opera had consisted of Mrs. Briefs, Kakarrot, Bulma and himself. Viridian had met them at the theater, and had ingrained himself at Bulma's side the second they had seen each other, fawning over her in a way that made the blood in Vegeta's ears pound so loudly he had troubles focusing on anything other than the fantasy he was currently having of busting the Viscount's head open.

When they had gone to take their seats, Mrs. Briefs had sat as far up in the box as she could as possible—as the ducal box, it was centrally placed with an excellent view of the stage—as well as being located just right so anyone who wanted to be seen sitting in the lavish box would only have to sit…right where Mrs. Briefs was. Maybe she was not as large of a fool as Vegeta had thought previously—though his thoughts on her vanity seemed to be spot on.

Kakarrot had claimed a seat in the back, and had fallen asleep as soon as the stage lights had dimmed, uncaring that he was snoring no matter how many times his mother poked him to wake him up. Vegeta had taken the only other seat in the back, wanting to be as close to the door that led to the hallway so he could slip out and look around during the second act, unnoticed by anyone but those he was sharing the box with. He had already scoped the place out so he knew the most direct route to the backstage, and Vegeta had worn his usual all black so he could easily slip around without being detected. He just needed to wait for the perfect moment to leave his box undetected…

But when he had taken the back seat, he had not expected Bulma and Viridian to sit directly in front of him. And he had not expected his spy instincts to be completely overshadowed by the anger and jealousy that was currently seething through him, making anything but grinding his teeth and fisting his hands to resist pummeling Viridian impossible. He was so struck between wanting to beat the insipid man and grabbing Bulma and taking her somewhere where he could lock her away from everyone who wanted to stare at her like Viridian was currently doing that if Frieza himself had walked into the box Vegeta would be hard-pressed to notice him or do anything about it.

But Viridian's stares were not the only thing that was making Vegeta's angry vein throb in his forehead.

It was Bulma.

Around him, she was prim and proper, and always stayed on task. She no longer spoke back to him, and that fire in her that had drawn him to her in the first place—that tongue of her, her wits—well those were hidden around him. She never smiled that bright wide smile, she never laughed with (or at) him—she was not who Vegeta had come to know her as. She was an emotionless, mechanical robot that would not even stand up to him, or respond to the arch way he spoke to her. She was not that woman around him anymore, and Vegeta hated to admit this, but he missed _that_ Bulma—the emotional spark who had drawn him in, had made him feel—the _real_ Bulma.

Watching her smile and laugh with Viridian, leaning in to whisper with him, her eyes flashing with pleasure—it was driving Vegeta crazy. Sure, she had never been all happy and laughing with him—but her indifference was pushing him closer to insanity. He wanted her to fight with him like they always did—not the cold way she was acting with him now. This past month had done nothing for Vegeta's ardor towards her, and to see her act so indifferent—it irritated him beyond belief that she could act like that to him. Every time they met in that damn library, he wanted to do nothing more than reach across to her and pull her into his lap and kiss her senseless.

He knew she was still that deeply passionate woman deep down, beneath her polite veneer, and he knew that he could unlock it by reminding her of the sparks that flowed freely between them. He refused to believe that their one time of copulating was enough for her. Every time they were in the same room, Vegeta's body would tighten with memories of being inside of her, his cock throbbing to life, hard with the need to be nestled within her again. He was overcome with the need to touch her, to taste her. Not only that…but he was sick of her not treating him like she had the night of the ball before they had even slept together.

He hated to admit it, but they had formed a connection that night that went beyond physical. She had understood his need to be alone (or lonely) that night, and he had found a deeper understanding of her. To see that connection one moment, and then to have it taken away from him the next day? It had smarted to say the least. Mainly whenever he would find her flirting with a room full of suitors. Only to then turn to him and treat him as her respected host—not as the man who had fucked her in the gardens.

Though there was the uncomfortable truth that maybe…maybe Vegeta's immature lovemaking had less than impressed Bulma, and she had decided he was not worth her time, any emotional connection between them be damned. He had only attended a few events since his ball, but he knew what an impression Bulma had made on society. She was the most popular belle of every ball, and was sought after by everyone. That room full of suitors that were in one of his drawing rooms damn near every afternoon all looked to her as if she was Kami's greatest gift to man. He heard rumors in his club that many a fight had broken out between friends, brother's, peer's when they discovered Miss Briefs had only one more dance to give that night, all wanting to claim their last dance for themselves. She was often spoken of at his club, as a matter of fact, and there were bets taken by the more foolhardy men who were betting they could get her as their wife…

Needless to say—Bulma now had a host of options to pick a new lover with, or to even find a husband. And she had found Vegeta lacking, apparently, if her cold behavior towards him was any indication.

Snapping back to the present as Bulma giggled again, Vegeta let out a silent groan. Vegeta's original plan had been to wait for the notoriously long second act of Rossini's latest (longest?) masterpiece, but he could not sit still any longer. Rather than sit here, watching Viridian continue to lean into Bulma to whisper something that would have her smiling at him, or giggling, before she would 'shhh,' him, pointing back to the stage—he was going backstage now.

Vegeta felt a growl coming on the next time that Viridian leaned into Bulma, and so instead of punching Viridian in the face like he wanted to Vegeta made some mumbled excuses, and swiftly left the box.

He was unsure if anyone even noticed him leaving, what with Viridian and Bulma being in their bubble, Mrs. Briefs more interested in being seen, and Kakarrot…sleeping—but he was supposed to be a good spy, so he resisted the urge he had to slam the door on the way out of the box like a petulant child. Though he could not stop from pouting like one as he wondered if anyone even noticed his disappearance.

* * *

><p>It did not take Vegeta long to make his way to the winding backstage of the production, and he patted himself on the back for going through with his plan earlier than he had originally intended. If he avoided the wings of the stage, there was truly no one below the stage where the actors dressing rooms were. He did not know why he did not think of it earlier, but this really was the perfect time to search through the belongings of the people who were in the acting troupe he was currently ducking out of, looking for any clues that would indicate they were connected to Russia or Frieza himself.<p>

Vegeta was able to make his way into the actors, dancers, and chorus stations, leafing through their things as he heard the production going on above him, and he felt his temper returning to him the longer he was away from Bulma and that idiot. He was not having the best of success of looking for clues, though, but it could be because he was currently in the rooms of the lesser members of the troupes shared stations. He had a feeling this 'Ginyu' would be a higher up actor, someone who could be invited into the homes of the peerage and no one would turn their nose up.

The only problem was he knew that the dressing rooms of these actors and actresses would be more heavily under watch, and if discovered inside, he would not have an easy time explaining his presence. Here, at least, he could pretend he was looking for a new mistress. It was entirely common for the male British peerage to find mistresses and lovers among the lower class actresses, and was in fact even expected. Vegeta had never done so, but he could see the attraction for these women as the men often offered them protection and money—two things they were in desperate need of.

As Vegeta reached the last of the shared rooms, he made his way through the mirrors and the contents of the drawers, when he heard the pitter-patter of feet, rumbling towards the room he was currently in. It must have been time for the first act break—and it seemed as if everyone was coming towards him. Shit.

Looking left and right, Vegeta saw a dressing screen, and threw himself behind it, praying no one had to change between the acts.

Not a second later, the sound of chatter filled the room up and Vegeta realized he was in the girls' dressing room—perfect. He was stuck behind a dressing screen in a room full of women—this would not do well for his cover story of looking for a mistress. If he were truly looking or a mistress he would not be hiding behind a screen! His actions seemed more in line with a peeping tom, and Vegeta's pride refused to let rumors start with him coming out looking like a horny fool.

He looked around for windows that he could slip through, but frowned when he realized they were underground—he doubted he would be able to find a window that led anywhere useful. He would just have to wait.

Thankfully, it seemed as if they did not have to change behind the screen that was provided—from the lighted silhouette of the women who he could see they had no problems changing in front of each other. Vegeta frowned as he realized he was away from some young, nubile women changing, and his libido refused to even stir. Damn, what kind of spell had that witch cast on him?

As the time grew on, Vegeta grew more complacent behind the screen, listening to the gossip that flowed freely between the ballerina's and chorus girls. The women in this room…well, they would make the sailors under his command blush with the kind of language and talk they were using. Vegeta could not help but smirk as he listened, wishing he had brought something to take notes with. He considered himself a quite knowledgeable lover…but these young women. Wow.

As he heard a bell tinkle, the women's chatter got louder, like a swell, before it started to move away. Vegeta waited a few minutes for the door to stop opening and closing, and for it to grow completely silent, then took a step past the screen back into the room ready to continue his search.

And froze as he met the surprised eyes of a young woman in the process of powdering her nose in front of the mirror.

Vegeta took a deep gulp, closed his eyes for a second, opened them—than very calmly said, "Hello."

The woman, whose mouth was open, closed slowly as she turned away from the mirror and to him, speaking in her cockney tone, " 'ello."

Vegeta, who was going through all of the voices and gossip he had just heard, felt a charming smile grow on his face as he slipped into the role of dashing Duke, "You are Melinda, aren't you?"

Her eyes grew even wider (he was not aware that was possible and was actually afraid of this girl's eye's popping out), " 'Ow did you know tha'?"

Vegeta kept the charm going, thanking Kami for the gossip he had just overheard, moving closer, "Don't you worry about that. All you need to know is that I know that you just had your heart broken by the lead baritone in this opera."

Her mouth re-opened, but Vegeta smoothly moved, grabbing her hand, placing it between his two warm palms. "How would you like to get some revenge on him by helping me?"

The girl looked suspicious. "I woul', but I 'ave to be back onstage in twenty min—"

Vegeta let go of her hand and reached into his pocket, and held up a ten pound note, knowing it was a good portion of what the girl made in a year, cutting her off, "And earn ten pound?"

The girls mouth closed, and she took the paper money from him, putting it into her drawer, giving him a winning smile as she turned back to face him, winking. "For a tenner, I'll 'elp you, and if you wan'—give you somethin' to remember me by!"

Vegeta only smirked.

* * *

><p>Vegeta ignored the chorus girl as they reached the last room of the hall, the last room he had to explore, that of the lead baritone, placing her on the couch in the room as he conducted his thorough search. She sat on the couch, her arms crossed, watching him while pouting. "I thoug' you wante' an old run-up with me for that kin' o' money."<p>

Vegeta sighed, but continued his search ignoring her. Where was it—he knew it had to be here. He had found it in the last four leading actors rooms, and he was positive that this man would have to be in with the others—found it! A triumphant smirk flitted across his face as he pulled the pin out of the secret drawer he had found by flipping a latch, using some lead to trace the design onto the paper he had traced the other four on before putting it back.

When he examined the paper, he felt that glow he got whenever he did his job right, whenever the pieces started to click into place. There was no doubt in his mind that he had found the 'Ginyu Force,' another set of spies that had long eluded capture. Vegeta had not been sure when he had thought that they were an acting troupe, but after his conversation with Bulma last week he had been more sure. For them to be the very acting troupe he had come to see at the Opera tonight…well that was just plain lucky. Particularly since he had found five other pins with the eagle that was on the Tsar of Russia's flag. A symbol he recognized…especially as the last time he had seen it had been branded on the shoulder of his dead—

"Oh no! Some-un's comin'!"

Vegeta very quickly turned toward the girl as he shoved the paper back into his jacket. As he rushed over to the couch, he pulled his cravat off, opening the top button of his shirt as he sat on the couch, pulling her onto him in one smooth motion. Kami bless her, she did not even flinch as he did so, or when he placed his mouth by her ear whispering, "Quick. Nuzzle my neck."

The girl, a real trouper, did so without having to be told twice, and when the door opened the person on the other side got a real eyeful of two lovers in a twisted embrace as Vegeta let out a loud moan as the girl began to artfully suck at his neck. There was a loud, "Oi!"

Melinda leaped up, looking shocked at being caught, and Vegeta smirked lazily, like a cat who had caught the canary as Melinda shooed the other person off, "Whatcha doin' in here Tommy? Can't a girl get a tupple in peace?"

The lad at the door looked nervous and refused to meet either Vegeta or Melinda's eyes, staring at the floor as his face turned beet red. "Beggin' your pardon Melinda. It's just that I thought I heard someone in Mister G's room, and you know 'e don' like tha'."

Melinda scowled at the boy, clearly an actual accomplished actress as she lied to the boy, " 'Ell he's on stage now, and I needed a place for a quick one up. Promise you won't tell and I'll give you a pound."

The lad's eyes grew large as he looked at Melinda. "A pound?"

Vegeta, not even waiting for a cue, put his hand in his pocket and flicked a pound in Tommy's direction. The boy eagerly grabbed the coin, and looked at them both. "I didn' see nothin' I swear it!"

He then ran from the room as if the hounds of hell were chasing after him.

Melinda looked back at Vegeta after Tommy had left them, smirking, "Well 'ow about it? Care to finish what we's was just startin'?"

Vegeta stood, all charm as he put a hand over his heart. "A performance worthy of the lead, Melinda—but unfortunately I must say no. It's almost time for you to be on stage, is it not?"

Melinda cursed as she realized the time, then curtseyed. "An honor, sir."

Vegeta bowed back, feeling ridiculous, but knowing this girl had provided him the perfect cover. He would have to make it up to her one day, by making her the lead in a play he was sponsoring. After buying her month's worth of elocution lessons, of course.

Still, Vegeta felt buoyed as he made his way back to the front of the house—his good mood only slightly tempered by the realization he would have to spend the rest of the opera behind Bulma and Viridian.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure you wouldn't rather be in there, watching the opera?"<p>

Eighteen waved her hand in a dismissive gesture at the bald man who sat across from her in her large and comfortable carriage, which was parked in front of the London Opera House. "It's a Rossini, and it's an opera. I can already tell you the whole story without watching even a second of it. Someone will fall in love, and someone, or maybe both of the people in love, will die. It's that simple."

Krillin frowned at her as she leaned towards him, holding out her glass for another refill. He quickly refilled it, but still had that frown on his face as she gave him a smile. "I just don't understand why you would come to the opera, then leave and sit in here with me."

Eighteen, rather than answer that question, took a sip of her champagne, keeping her eyes on the man who sat opposite her. Eighteen was not a coward when it came to telling the truth—she would answer that question for him, and quite forthrightly, but the truth was—she had no answer to that question. She was just as confused as Krillin was as to why she would rather be here with him, then in a room full of people who she knew.

When she had first started meeting him, it had been out of amusement, and perhaps a sense of getting some form of revenge on Bulma for stealing Eighteen's spotlight. But as she got to know him, she found herself unwilling to use him like that. He was just so…nice…to her.

So she answered him as truthfully as she could, "It's boring in there. It's the same people, season in, season out—and I'm tired of it."

Krillin looked at her as he too took a sip of his drink, poured from the Widow's extensive sideboard inside of her carriage (a present from a past lover), the frown long gone as he sighed, his usual smile warming his face. "Well, if you're sure."

Eighteen smiled at him, leaning forward, "I am quite sure." As she saw his eyes dart down towards her cleavage, she spoke to him in that husky tone of hers that men seemed to adore, "In fact…if you want to get out of here, maybe go back to my place…"

Krillin suddenly turned tomato red, sputtering into his whiskey, as he got tongue-tied, leaning back so he was as far from her as he could be. "Oh, I…uh…I…uh…I…can't. I can't."

Eighteen frowned as she leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms impishly. She was used to dealing with men who wanted to bed her as quickly as possible, to take pleasure from her beauty, men much more suave than this American was. She could not understand why, almost a month after having met him, Krillin had still not made a move on her—nor had he responded to any of the invitations she had proffered. Or why it seemed to bother her so much.

This past month had been an odd one for their relationship (if one could call whatever was between them that, she thought annoyed). Krillin had come to as many events as he could, acting as a footman to Kakarrot and his annoying sister Bulma, and Eighteen always met up with him so they could talk. They always just talked, and Eighteen found she could listen to the man chatter on for hours. He was such a breath of fresh air, so unlike what she was used to that she found his inane chatter… refreshing. After their first few meetings, she even told him some about her own life, and so far he had not gone screaming to the hills—that was a good thing.

Still, Eighteen recognized that her fascination with Krillin had to be because he was a novelty, and she always left their meeting, warning him that it might be their last…but that he should still come to the next event. Sure enough, at the very next event, she would be inside long enough for her presence to be verified…and she would find herself growing bored, creeping outside, where she knew he would be waiting for her. He was always…so funny. He could make her smile with his stories, and she found an odd comfort in that.

But he had yet to try to kiss her, and every time she leaned in or tried something, he ended up turning beet red, stammering. Eighteen had to admit she was more than a little insulted. Her voice was irritated as she asked him. "Why not?"

Krillin put a hand up to rub the back of his head, and she frowned in annoyance as she recognized the maneuver as his general sign of appeasement. "Aw, you know I can't. I have to be here in case someone wants to leave early."

Eighteen frowned, leaning forward. "Fine. Then come tonight. After everyone has gone to bed—come to my home. My door will be open for you…"

Krillin went even redder (Eighteen would have been more worried about this, except that she was too pissed to care), his discomfort obvious. "Tonight…uh…tonight, it isn't…uh…I can't…"

Eighteen slammed her champagne glass down on the sideboard, uncaring of the champagne that splashed on her. "Then what are we doing here?"

Krillin's eyes grew large. "What do you mean? We're talking…"

Eighteen frowned at him. "All we ever do is talk. You're the only man I've ever known who hasn't made a move on me!"

Krillin's mouth went slack, and he gulped, "Is that…uh…a bad thing?"

Eighteen froze, the question catching her off-guard as she realized she did not have an answer for that, nor had she ever really considered that.

Krillin took advantage of her silence to speak, "Listen…Eighteen. I like you…a lot. You're beautiful. You're smart—but I'm not like the men you're used to. I'm not polished like the aristocrats, or rich like the men in your life, and I'm not a genius like your late husband. I don't understand…I don't understand why a girl like you would…want someone like me?"

Eighteen stared at him, her mouth opening wide as she tried to speak, before it closed, Eighteen finding herself at a loss for words. Why did she want someone like him? All she would have to do would be to go back into the opera, turn on her charm, and she would find someone else who would want her as their mistress. And yet…she could not…and she found she did not want too. But still, she could not answer Krillin's questions because she had no answer (again!).

Krillin, upon seeing that she was unlikely to speak, sighed. He put his own glass down on the seat next to him, standing. "I have to be getting back."

Eighteen watched him go in silence, but hated herself for finding that she could not let him leave completely without asking, "Will I see you again?"

Krillin, who was already opening her carriage door, paused, keeping his back to her; when he turned back to her, he was smiling. "That depends on you. I'll be in London for a while yet, I think."

Eighteen did not want to say anything else, but she could not help but answer him saying, "I'll look for you at the next ball."

Krillin's smile was still in place, but it grew a mite bit sadder as he gave her a nod. "I'll be waiting in the gardens. As usual…"

Then he was gone, leaving Eighteen feeling maudlin wondering if perhaps she was a bigger coward than she might have realized…

* * *

><p>The second act of the opera ended and Bulma found herself making excuses to be left behind in the box as her mother, brother and Viridian all stood, making their way out to where the long intermission found most people congregating, making social connections and the like. Viridian had offered to stay behind, but Bulma had shaken her head. "Absolutely not. It is my own fault for not taking a nap today, and I am only going to sit in the back of this box and take a quick nap before the," (<em>long<em> she interjected in her head), "final act starts."

Viridian had peered at her, but she must have looked sufficiently tired because he only nodded at her, whispering, "Nap where the Viscount was—no one can see you in that corner because of the angle."

She smiled at him, waiting until he had left, behind her mother and brother, before she had moved to that corner. Thank goodness her brother had heard about the complimentary dinner being provided during this intermission. She had been afraid he would have continued napping in the box, and truth be told she needed the alone time.

She was exhausted—that was true, but it had nothing to do with not taking a nap today. She was just so emotionally exhausted from being here, with Vegeta sitting behind her, watching every little thing her and Viridian did together, and having to act as if nothing was wrong with _him_ sitting behind her and glaring at her. She usually enjoyed getting lost in the theater, whether it be Opera or a play, but tonight it was taking all of her energy and focus to _not_ focus on Vegeta—even if he had left before the first act had even ended.

Maybe she really should take advantage of being alone in the box and sleep, like she had told everyone she would, before they came back from eating and socializing. She was exhausted, Kami knew that, and she was sick of play-acting around everyone. She could not even be herself around Goku anymore it seemed, as he seemed to notice how weary she was growing of everything—and she was deathly afraid he would discover the one secret she was keeping from him—that her and Vegeta had slept together. She was not sure how he was going to react to that…but she did not want to find out.

Bulma sighed, and closed her eyes, reasoning that she just needed more sleep. Sleep always made her feel better.

Though when she tried to close her eyes, she found them popping open again as her thoughts caught up with her. Where had Vegeta disappeared too? As exhausting as it was having to act normal when he was in the box with her—it was even harder when he had disappeared, having to act like she was not curious as to where he had gotten off too, and even worrying about him when he had missed the whole of the second act.

She should have known he would not have sat through the whole opera though—he had chosen to attend tonight to follow up on a lead for the Zhelonie case, and what better time to snoop around than when everyone else was being entertained by what was going on in front of them? It did not take her genius to figure this out.

Still, he had been gone a very long time now…

Bulma was just frowning at that thought, when the door opened, and, as if summoned by magic, Vegeta strode through. He looked around the empty box, frowning, his eyes narrowing when they caught Bulma, staring at him from the corner with large eyes.

He had caught her unawares, and Bulma had been unable to stop the smile that had grown on her face as she told him in her perfectly normal, emotion-full voice, "I was just wondering where you had gotten off to!"

Vegeta frown deepened, and Bulma realized it was because she was smiling like an idiot. This was wrong—she needed to act as cool and as calm around him as she usually did, not like who she really was. The last thing she wanted was for him to know she cared about him or anything he had to say or do.

Vegeta said nothing as she wiped the smile from her face, though he observed her with black eyes as he asked, "Where is everyone else? Where's your lapdog?"

Bulma was the one who frowned this time, as Vegeta moved further into the box, closing the door (locking it, Bulma noticed). She did not pretend to not know who he was talking about, and she matter of factly informed him, "He has gone off to meet with some friends, and mom and Go…Kakarrot are off at the buffet."

Vegeta nodded, moving into the box and sat in the chair in the back row, the one he had occupied earlier, and Bulma tried to act like he was not there. Except, maybe because her guard was down, or because she was so damn tired of acting around everyone, she could not stop herself from answering him like she would have in the past, bickering with him, "He's not my lap dog, though."

Vegeta snorted, his arms and legs crossed, his face forward, not looking at her as he answered her, "Please—you have him eating out of the palm of your hand, and you know it."

Bulma frowned at that. "I do not." Her frown grew deeper as she tried to explain, "I mean I do not have him eating out of the palm of my hand. Not that I do not know it. Because I don't need to know it…" She trailed off as she felt her old flush rush to her cheeks, and she only sat back in her chair, muttering, "We just happen to get along."

Vegeta quirked an eyebrow, turning to face her as he spoke, "Is that what you keep telling yourself?" She looked at him, curious, and he continued, "That you two get along?" She gave a curt nod, and he shook his head. "How can you really believe that? That the two of you get along. You and I both know that you must keep up your wall of perfect poise at all times with him—do you really think he can get to know you with that wall you must always keep up?"

Bulma felt her mouth growing slack as he spoke—he had hit on the truth right there, had he not? She wanted to answer but found she could not—she was tongue-tied. How did she know Viridian really got along with her when she had yet to share anything of her true self with him? What surprised her more, though, was that Vegeta would recognize this in her. She had made herself forget that they had a real understanding of each other's loneliness, and for him to speak so truthfully in front of her…it caused her skin to prickle with awareness.

But she peevishly said, "What do you care? He is just someone to pass the time with at events, since you have forbidden me to spend too much time with my brother."

Vegeta glared at her sitting up, his body facing her as he angrily spoke, "So you just jump from one man to the other, then? Is that it?"

Bulma, hearing animosity behind his words, grew confused. What the hell was he talking about? But her confusion was second to her anger at the way he spoke to her. "How dare you! _I just jump from one man to another?_ What in Kami's name are you talking about?"

Vegeta stood, stalking closer to her, standing above her and Bulma tried to shrink back in the chair. Her vision shrank so it was only her and Vegeta, and her heart began to race, little bolts of electricity running from her center through her skin, as he loomed over her like that. She did not like the feeling of claustrophobia it gave her, but she found an odd pleasure in being wrapped in his heat again. His snappish tone caught her off guard though, as he spoke to her, "Is that how you operate, Bulma? You find a man, toy with him, and once you are done, you move on?"

Bulma's mouth was wide open, even as she felt her body yearn to move closer to him, to envelop herself in his warmth and heat. "What are you talking about? I have never done th—"

"What about what happened between us, then? Are you denying that you used me once for pleasure, and then moved on once you found that I was lacking?"

Bulma's mouth was wide open, and she stood from the seat, suddenly feeling the urge to flee. She tried to push past him, needing to be away from him but he was an immovable rock. She began to feel panicky, she was losing her head around him. "For one, I do not use men simply for pleasure! And for two, I thought we agreed not to talk about it!"

Vegeta's hands slammed on either side of the wall behind her head, caging her in with his body as he leaned closer. "Wrong—you gave me no choice but to not talk about what happened between us!" Bulma felt herself growing more and more heated, and she tried to duck away from him, but he would not let her. "What's the matter Bulma? Can't stand the tension of being around Viridian and me at the same time? Don't like having your past indiscretions all sitting in the same box with your newest one?"

Bulma's anger mottled with her confusion, making her whole face turn red as she looked at him, her flashing blue eyes and trembling lips tempting him more than she could ever know. Her voice was sharp, when she responded, "How dare you! What is the meaning of this—indiscretions? You're the only one and we only had a one time thing, Vegeta!"

He almost crowed in sheer delight, pleased just to see her have emotions around him again. Finally! He was back to seeing the real Bulma—his blood began to boil, the thundering in his ears making it impossible to hear her as his eyes focused on her moving lips, his body tightening with the need to touch her again. Touch her, feel her, taste her—hell, he wanted all of her. But his lust was mixing with his anger, and he found himself unable to grasp what she was saying, instead saying things he had promised to never admit to anyone, let alone Bulma. "Did I not pass the test the first time Bulma, is that the problem? Was I not man enough for you, so you just move on through me to the next victim?"

"What test? What victim? You're the one who seduced me!" Bulma's anger was growing more heated, but so was her body. This was the closest her and Vegeta had been since the night in the garden, and her body was already aching for her to lean forward those last few inches and get him to stop talking by kissing him uncontrollably. What's more, her skin was growing tight, and a pool of liquid fire was spreading between her legs as her hips unconsciously angled towards Vegeta.

As Vegeta moved his head closer to hers though, presumably to shout more utter nonsense at her, Bulma noticed something, her confusion and anger redirecting as she put her face closer to his neck. "Is that a lipstick smear on your neck?"

Vegeta did not even look, or try to swipe at it, only staring at her, his black eyes boring into hers. "If it is, what does it matter to you? You have made yourself perfectly clear on the matter of whether or not you think I am an adequate enough lover for you, Miss Briefs!"

Bulma's eyes grew into slits, and she fisted her hands, resisting the urge she had to start clawing out Vegeta's eyes. Was he seriously just returning from an assignation with another woman, and he was standing here accusing her of looking for a new lover? The nerve of him! He was making no sense, but it did not take a genius to figure out that his pride was what was hurting the most right now—what with all of his hints about his male ego being damaged.

She was so angry at him, she could not but help and act flippant (as jealousy began to gnaw at her insides), as she went for the emotional jab rather than the physical one, "That's it exactly Vegeta, you found me out! You were inadequate, and I would rather sleep with all of the gentry in England that let you touch me again!"

Her words seemed to push Vegeta over some ledge, as he hissed at her, "Inadequate? You find me inadequate?" Before she could respond, he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her body as he pulled her flush against him, the angry jutting of his erection against her lower belly shocking her. "I will show you how adequate I am, dammit!"

His mouth slammed onto her own, his lips working against her own as he stole all of the breath from her lungs with a kiss like that. This kiss for him was all about possession, and he was not giving her an inch to move, kissing the life out of her as his tongue found its way into her mouth, plundering her mouth for all that it was worth.

Bulma struggled in his grasp at first, but his arms were like steel bands around her, and the more she wiggled, the closer she grew to him. The past month of denying herself even a modicum of desire around her collapsed on her in that moment, as the heat of his body, and that masculine scent that was all him began to suffocate her, and before she knew it—a dam inside of her broke as well, and she found herself wrapping her arms around his back, going into his coarse hair, pressing him closer to her as she began to kiss him back. Her bones turned to heated jelly, her body softening as she pressed against him, fighting him even as they kissed.

The kiss was full of fury and their anger, the two of them seeking dominance over the other as Bulma opened her mouth further, letting his tongue clash with her own, meeting kiss for kiss. One of his hands tugged at her hair, angling her mouth so he could have better access to it, before he returned to her mouth, sucking the very breath out of her body with his fiery kisses. She sucked on his tongue, and he pressed her closer to him, seeming to want to do nothing more than absorb her into his very body.

Bulma's whole body throbbed to life with the passion between them, her breasts growing plump with the need to be touched, her hips pressing into his, a satisfying groan escaping her lips as she felt his erection pressing further into her lower abdomen. Knowing she could do this to him, drive him this crazy—it sparked something inside of her, something powerful, something that made her glad to be a woman who could bring this strong man to such passion. She might not be able to control herself around him, but dammit—neither could he.

He swallowed her groan, then ripped his mouth from her own, leaving a trail of kisses up her jaw line, ending at her earlobe where he gave it a sharp nip, whispering into her ear, "You think I'm inadequate—you have not seen a damn thing yet."

Before she could wonder at that, he pressed her back down, so she was sitting, and got on his knees between her legs, pressing against her as he latched onto her again, leaving her breathless with the ardor behind those kisses. She wrapped her body against his, needing to feel him, cursing the amount of clothing that was separating them from having skin on skin contact. Kami—she burned, needing to feel his warm skin against her own, needing to feel him inside of her again.

He left her mouth with a soft groan, nuzzling her neck as he kissed, and sucked, stopping at the pounding base of her neck to nip at it as it pounded feverishly. Before she could stop him, he used his mouth and hands to lower the front of her dress so one of her breasts bounced free from its confine.

He growled as he saw her naked flesh, and looked up at her, smirking, before he lowered his mouth to her breast. Tracing the aureole with his tongue, he playfully lapped at her, causing the already taut peak to tighten further, reddening from his expert ministrations. She did not know why he would ever think she thought he was inadequate as a lover, but if it meant him ravishing her like he was currently doing, she would go to her grave swearing that he was the world's worst lover. As he continued to play with her breast, he kissed her right on the tip of her breast, before sucking the nipple into his mouth, his tongue playing with the sensitive tip as she wiggled beneath his ministrations, her body turning to molten lava, as he sucked, nipped and licked at her.

Her legs, seeming to be full of fever, moved restlessly around the hard length of his body, wrapping around him, pulling him closer to her aching center, wishing that they were somewhere, anywhere but here. She needed to have the hard length of him pressed against her, to relieve some of the aching in her core, his attention to her breast seeming to drive her even crazier, even more needier than she would have thought possible.

He finally let go of her nipple with a loud _pop_, as he grinned at her. "This is just the beginning, Woman—I hope you can stop yourself from screaming as I make you cum."

Bulma, knowing that their anger and passion were driving them in equal force, only bit out at him, "Big words Vegeta. I'm not sure you can back them up." Vegeta glared at her, growling as he used his arms to unwrap her legs from his body, before he put his hands on her ankles, guiding her legs apart as he pushed the skirts of her dress up, just to her knees, before he ducked beneath them.

Before Bulma could really think about what he was doing, Vegeta left a hot, open mouth kiss on the inside of her thigh, and Bulma let out a gasp.

_Surely he was not going to—oh my God, what was he doing with his tongue?_

As his feverishly hot tongue traced along the exposed skin at the top of her silk stocking, Bulma heard a loud ripping sound as her under things were ripped further open as the full palm of Vegeta's hand pressed against her heated mound. Her heated flesh warmed further and strained towards Vegeta's fingers as they ran up and down the lips of her sex. Using his long, strong middle finger to press between her nether lips, Bulma had to squeeze her legs into Vegeta's shoulders as he inadvertently pressed on her clit, causing her body to start having mini-seizures.

She heard a dark chuckle, and felt Vegeta's hands guiding Bulma's thighs so that they rested on his broad shoulders, before her used his strong hands beneath her bottom, guiding her so she was spread open, angled before him as he brought his head closer to her sex. He stopped right at the outside of her, and she could feel his warm breath fan on her overly sensitive skin, causing her to shiver as he spoke, "You should never challenge a Saiyan, Woman, unless you are ready to deal with the consequences."

Bulma leaned back in the chair as she finally felt him press his lips to her sex, leaving a feather light kiss against her, before he spiked his tongue out, running up the length of her slit as his fingers had just done, before thrust into her folds, reaching, searching for that over sensitive bundle of nerves that crowned her sex, laving at it with that wicked tongue of his.

Bulma's head lolled back against the wall, as Vegeta began to lightly lap at her clit, before he started to apply more pressure, his tongue going in circles around her, then going to licking at her heated peak, over and over, before he put his lips around her, sucking her lightly into his mouth. Bulma put a fist in her mouth to try and muffle a broken sob as the sensations he was evoking in her began to reach feverish peak after feverish peak—this was so much different than the last time. As he lapped at her, alternating between using his tongue to tickle her body into submission and sucking her into his mouth, having the blood rush into her clit, Bulma felt her eyes roll back into her head as the sensations completely overwhelmed her.

When she thought it was going to be too much, as if her body was feeling too much to be real, she felt him slide one finger into the wet sheath of her body, pressing as a counterpoint to what his tongue was already doing to her. His mouth and finger began to work in tandem, and Bulma felt herself let go completely as she lost all control of what was happening to her body.

Bulma's hips began to buckle against him of their own accord, and as he slid in another finger to play with her, pistoning in and out of her body as his mouth continued its delicious torture of her, Bulma covered her mouth with both hands as she felt her whole body seize up, her legs going stock still straight, as if she had just been shocked, her whole body exploding in a sensational rush of heat that had her sobbing with relief as Vegeta's fingers continued to manipulate her. She did not just hit the peak once and come down, like she had that other time—he teased her over and over again until she could finally no longer feel, her whole body wreathed in sensations too wonderful, too large to explain.

If she had not been covering her mouth with her hands, she would have brought the house down with her cries, but as it was, Bulma prayed that the chatter of people talking would be enough to cover her loud cries and moans. Vegeta, feeling her body soften beneath him with completion, sucked at the over-sensitized skin for a few moments, absorbing the taste of her, before withdrawing from her. He pressed a few errant kisses to the exposed skin he saw on her legs, unable to resist the taste of her flesh, before he appeared from underneath her skirts again, a wickedly devilish smirk on his face, as he looked at her, triumph in his eyes.

He met Bulma's glazed look as he pulled her clothes back into place, righting them as much as he could, before he pulled her in for another kiss, a softer one than the animalistic one they had shared before, claiming her with his mouth as she dazedly kissed him back, feeling her body start to throb to life again. How was this even possible? She was sure her body was going to explode from the sensations he evoked in her—to feel her body start to ache for him again…

Bulma knew there was so much more to the act, and she knew she would not feel a true completion unless he was inside of her again, and she tried to wrap her legs around him, pulling him closer to her already aching core.

Vegeta broke the kiss, surprising her, and unwrapped her legs from his body. "Not here—now is not the time for me to show you exactly how many times I can make you cry out like that in an hour. Intermission is almost over, and your lap dog will be back then."

Bulma looked at him, uncomprehending, before she realized that people were indeed filing into their seats below them, the chatter in the opera house growing louder as people settled in for the last act.

She swiftly looked at him again, and muttered, "Oh no. I must look a wreck."

Vegeta smirked at her, reaching at her hair to pat at it, before dropping one last kiss on her mouth as if he was unable to stop himself. His tone was so much more…relaxed than she had ever heard it, and she grew confused. She knew he was still aroused, and yet he was acting calmer than she was. "Not a wreck. But a bit peaked. Perhaps explain by saying you had a very vivid nightmare?"

Bulma looked up at Vegeta, suspicious. "Did you just…make a joke?"

Vegeta walked to the door, the smile transforming his face as it grew. "Not at all. I was just giving you a helpful suggestion."

Bulma watched as he reached for the lock to the door, the smile driving her blood to a frenzy. When he looked like that, it took all of her willpower not to jump him. "You're certainly in the best mood I've seen you in weeks."

Vegeta's eyes met her own, his hand on the lock as he lazily taunted, "Maybe that's because I know you can never deny the attraction between us again, or that I am inadequate. Not with the way you were moaning and groaning." He chuckled wickedly at that, and Bulma could only stare, her mouth wide open, as he unlocked the door, then sauntered to his side of the box sitting. As she watched him, he faced the stage, the smirk unable to leave his face, looking very much like he had not a care in the world.

Not a minute later, Goku and her mother came back into the box, Goku rubbing his stomach, "Hey-a sis! You missed out on the most delicious feast! There was roast duck, and ham, and braised ribs, and…hey—why are you all red?"

Bulma, who had been trying to keep her face in the shadows, felt the blush rising to her cheeks, staining them even more hopelessly red as she met her brother's curious eyes. She felt herself at a loss for words, but then, as her eyes flicked past Goku, to where Vegeta was staring at her, still wickedly smirking, she forced her eyes back to Goku as she muttered, "Nightmare. It was very vivid. Got me going a bit."

Mrs. Briefs made a cooing sound as she took the empty seat next to Bulma. "Oh dear Bulma. Do you want me to sing to you like I used to when you were scared?"

Both Goku and Bulma, having grown up with their mother's singing voice instantaneously answered, "No!"

Mrs. Briefs blinked, looking perplexed as to why both of her children were yelling at her. "I was only trying to help!" Mrs. Briefs turned her attention back on Bulma, already smiling like she had not just been insulted. "When we get back to the house deary, leave your bedroom door unlocked, that way I can come in and comfort you if you have another nightmare."

Bulma, who somehow caught Vegeta's suggestive gaze over her mother's concerned one, frowned, shaking her head. "Won't be necessary mother. I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself." She waited a tick, then added, louder, "And my door definitely won't be unlocked tonight."

Mrs. Briefs stared at her oddly. "Oh…kay…well, if that's what you want."

Bulma firmly met Vegeta's gaze over her mother's shoulder, trying to look sure. "It most definitely is."

Vegeta's smirk turned into a full on wicked grin at that.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh man, naughty, naughty. The scene at the opera is one of those I've had in my head since I first envisioned this story—am finally so glad to see it on paper, and be every bit as hot as I imagined it would be (if I do say so myself). Ha ha.

So I have a question for all of my loyal readers: Do you guys prefer that I post longer chapters (like this one) more sporadically, or have shorter chapters that go up on a more regular basis? I only ask because I go through phases where I get a lot of writing done, and I don't know whether its best to put it all out there at the same time, or have it come out on a weekly/bi-weekly schedule. Let me know what you think!


	20. Lilacs

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing and Lemon.

A/N: Uhm, do people still call it lemon? Well I do. I'm bringing it back. Back to when you had to find your fanfiction on rando websites, furiously searching for places where the full story was put up, especially when you only had an hour on a dialup computer, and you NEEDED to finish the story you were reading. Sigh. The good ol' days.

Thanks to all of my reviewers, your thoughtful reviews mean the world to me.

Lilpumpkingirl, continue beta-rocking hcore.

Chapter Nineteen: Lilacs

Vegeta stared at the correspondence he had received from Basil, a large frown forming on his face as the words of the missive sank in. Once again it was about flowers, but lilac (the code word Vegeta had chosen for Bulma way back when…) was staring him in the face, seeming to grow larger as the rest of the words grew smaller.

_LILACS are proving to be the 'it' flower of the season. We must populate your gardens with them—I will bring samples of LILACS for you to pick from tomorrow, at noon by the folly._

Vegeta's read and re-read the message for the hundredth time, translating it again, just in case he was mistaken about what Basil was trying to tell him. The folly part at noon was clear, if nothing else. The folly was a popular, yet often secluded, part of Hyde Park where a fake version of an ancient Roman ruin had been constructed a few summers past when crumbling ruins had been in style. Vegeta had never bought into the fad, even when other Peer's had built crumbling cottages, Roman and Greek ruins, and other such folly's—and he was now proud to say he was not forced to tear one down with the changing attitudes of fashion.

But still, this furrowing of his brow had nothing to do with the folly itself or even his general dislike for them—this had to do with bringing Bulma to meet Basil. That was the other part of the note he could pretend to misunderstand. Basil wanted to meet Bulma, that much was clear. It said he would bring a sample of lilacs, but it really was a summons for Vegeta to bring Bulma with him to the meeting. Vegeta just could not hash out why Basil would want to meet with her, and that was what was bothering him. Well, a lot of things were bothering him, truth be told, but this one was at the forefront of his mind.

Well, that was not technically true either. Ever since the encounter at the Opera a few nights ago, Vegeta had been struck with the kind of lust one did not simply shake off (no pun intended) or find release from through any means other than copulation with the woman one desired. Vegeta was no fool, and he was ready to admit that he wanted to have an affair with Bulma (needed might be the better word, as touching her had become as essential to him as breathing air was) and was willing to take the chance of carrying on an affair in his house with the Briefs and the dowager only down the hall.

Unfortunately, Bulma was not yet ready to admit the same.

The night of the opera, Vegeta had waited until he was sure everyone would be asleep and then had quietly crept his way to Bulma's chamber's in nothing but his dressing robe. He had smiled saucily when he had been able to enter her apartments with no problem, crossing the floor as silently as a ghost as he approached her bedroom door. So she had left her door unlocked, had she? There could be no mistaking the message behind that unbolted door…

As he reached for the knob of her bedroom door, though, his smile dissipated as he tried to turn the knob and found resistance.

It was locked.

Vegeta frowned at the doorknob, taking his hand off, staring at it, and then putting his hand back on the knob, turning it again.

Still locked.

Maybe she had locked it out of habit?

So he had softly rapped at her door, trying to gain her attention. He was glad her bedroom door was not in the hallway as he would have been there for anyone to find, standing there in nothing but a robe, knocking at Bulma's door. How humiliating.

At least in her apartments he was given some modicum of privacy. "Bulma…."

Maybe she had fallen asleep? He smirked as he thought about her earlier tonight, when he had been ruthlessly making her cum with his mouth, in a place where she had to silence her screams. He thought about the thrill of making her moan and groan, in a place where at any moment they could be caught. Dear Kami. He was growing hard just thinking about it, just thinking about her—her taste, the feel of her. Perhaps he had exhausted her so much with his relentless tongue she had fallen asleep…that certainly was plausible….

But then, through the closed door, he heard a hushed, "Vegeta?"

Vegeta straightened. "Yes. Let me in."

A pause, a slight hesitation, and then, "No."

Vegeta stared at the door confused, then, as her words sunk in, he frowned at the still implausibly closed door as if it were Bulma. "What do you mean, no?"

Bulma's voice grew louder as she grew bolder, "I mean no, Vegeta. A woman has a right to say no."

Vegeta growled, leaning closer to the door, "I respect that woman, a woman always has a right to say no…but a man has a right to know why a woman is saying no when not even four hours ago that woman was crying out as that same man was between her legs. So I repeat myself—what do you mean, no?"

Another pause, and Vegeta could almost picture her blushing, "I don't think we should do this Vegeta. Things can get very complicated very quickly."

Vegeta recognized the wisdom in that, but his unsatisfied lust made him irritable. "So what? We're supposed to just ignore what exists between us—again?"

Her voice was soft, "Yes. It's for the best."

Vegeta was dangerously close to yelling level as he whispered, "The hell it is!" Vegeta took a few steps away, trying to reign in his temper before he brought someone to her apartments with his screaming. The last thing he needed was for someone to find out about them—hell, it was the whole reason he was sneaking around right now in the middle of the night, instead of grabbing her and taking her as soon as they had gotten home.

Vegeta closed his eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten at least fifty times before he turned back to the door, keeping his voice low as he approached the mahogany. "Bulma? Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"I am leaving."

"Good."

Vegeta scowled at the door, but then put his face close to it, imaging hers on the other side, close to his. "But I want you to know one thing before I go."

He waited for her to respond, and when she did, she sounded curious, "What is it?"

Vegeta smirked, making his voice as velvety as possible, "I know that what you experienced earlier isn't enough. I know that even though your body came already tonight, multiple times, that you and I both know that there is so much more than what has already happened. My tongue and fingers aren't enough—there's an ache inside of you, a void only I can fill, and you're not letting me. You need me, inside of you, on top of you, as I slide in and out of you, over and over again. You need the heat of my body, the fire that exists between us to satisfy that throbbing within your body and you're not going to find it by yourself. You need me Bulma—just remember that. The only reason you're not already being fulfilled is because of your own…pride? Wisdom? Whatever you want to call it. Just remember, that it is all because of you that you are not going to find satisfaction anytime soon. Come find me when you are ready to admit you want me, like a grown-up, and are done denying it like a child…"

And then he walked away, satisfied in that he had gotten the last word. If nothing else, he bitterly thought as he walked back to his chambers, waking countless servants for a much-needed cold bath.

Over the last couple of days Vegeta had played it cool, and had left Bulma alone, needing time to think of a new strategy. He had been a fool to approach her—he knew that Bulma could play ice queen better than most and that if he provoked her too much, she would close off in an instance. So he had decided to plant the seeds of lust in her, bide his time, and then set about properly seducing her. Vegeta's newest plan of attack centered around him not approaching her at every opportunity, to wait her out, to make her come to him. He remembered her jealousy when she had found Melinda's lipstick stains, and he knew that she wanted him.

He just needed to be patient, and wait for her to realize that.

But it seemed that fate was intervening. Vegeta had been ready to let Bulma stew for a few more days after the opera incident, to make her go crazy with wonder at why he was not approaching her—and Basil was telling him that he needed to go see her now. What the hell was it about his plans that always seemed to go so far awry with this damn woman? Could he honestly not be left with his own schemes when it came to her?

When he wanted to avoid her, fate pushed them together, when he wanted to be with her, things kept them apart. It truly was not fair.

How was a man supposed to implement a simple seduction around here?

But that was not the issue right now. What was the issue was that Vegeta now had to find Bulma, and tell her that they would be meeting with Basil the next day—his plan be damned. He sighed at that thought, but rose, knowing he would not deny his job as a spy, even if it did interfere with him finally getting the woman he had been desiring for the past few months in his damn bed (and not a damn garden, or a damn opera box).

Vegeta left the ducal office, already frowning, his destination the numerous drawing and sitting rooms Bulma used as her personal courts during tea times, scowling as he thought about the score of people he would have to fight through just to talk to her. Saiyan Hall had never been as busy as it was the afternoons Bulma held tea here, the noise of chatter and gossip coming through to him every tea time, even when he was working in his secret office. It drew his frustration to no end, but he could hardly ban people from coming over. Bulma would just go to their house, and then...well, then he would not know where she was.

He did not know when it started, but Vegeta liked being able to keep tabs on Bulma, to know where she was at all times. Something about knowing they were under the same roof—it comforted him, gave him some peace of mind. Even if it caused his hackles to rise simply from hearing her laugh with anyone else. Still, better to know that she was here chattering with people, rather than wondering what she was doing away from him.

As Vegeta searched Bulma's usual places, though, there was no sign of her, or even of a tea service being prepared or having just been served. Odd—maybe it was one of those rare days when Bulma took tea outside of the house. He sighed, deciding to come back from his club early tonight to see if he could catch her before she fell asleep so they could have this conversation. He needed to prepare her for meeting Basil tomorrow—he could not afford for her to embarrass him in front of the man he would have to work with for as long as he lived. Vegeta frowned when he realized that might not be an excessively long time—when he lost track of his thoughts as he noticed that the library door was left open.

Vegeta, curious as to who would be in the library (it was not time for one of his and Bulma's meetings), walked in, observing that the curtains were closed, the room dark except for the mild lighting of candles. As he continued his sweep, Vegeta was mildly surprised to see that it was indeed Bulma in the library, her back to him, unnoticing of another occupant of the room. What the devil was she doing in here? He knew that she liked to work in her sitting room (ever since he had gotten back from France and reclaimed _his_ secret office), and only came in here when they were to meet.

To find the blue-haired heiress, her head bowed low as she lay on the couch, a blanket covering her as she sat writing, drew his curiosity. He could not help himself from entering the room as she worked, watching her silently for a few moments, studying the curve of her neck, revealed to him with her hair pulled into a messy bun. He would very much like to taste her heated flesh, right there below her ear, where it looked so smooth—he imagined how delicious she would taste in that exact spot.

Vegeta was growing fanciful though, so he forced himself to stop fantasizing and instead walk heavily into the room as he took the seat he always occupied when they had their meetings. Bulma looked up as he entered and he was pleased to see that a faint blush spread on her cheeks as she took him in. She did not speak at first, and then she softly said, "Hello."

Vegeta was extremely glad to see that he being here affected her, and he hoped that her indifference to him had left her completely. As he considered speaking to her in a seductive tone, whispering hello back, he got distracted as he took her in. She was dressed in her night rail, with her dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, as well as several blankets. Her hair was up with no ornamentation (as he was used to from her), her skin was wan, and she had large, dark circles underneath her eyes. He frowned as he took her in. "Are you ill?"

Bulma cocked her head as she took him in, her lips drawing in. "Why? Do I look ill?"

Vegeta examined her, and decided now was not the time to seduce her. Especially as some odd, protective side of him wanted to nothing more than to carry her back to her own bed, where he could wrap her in blankets, and feed her broth. An extremely odd and discomforting thought that he instantly banished as he spoke truthfully to her, "Yes. You look like you haven't slept in days."

Bulma shrugged, looking down at the paper she had been working on. As she looked back up at him he noticed that her blue eyes stood out in stark contrast to the dark circles, making her look even more dainty and beautiful at the same time. "I think I might be burning the midnight oil too hard these past few weeks and it finally caught up with me. I woke up this morning feeling like I had not slept, and I'm not quite queasy, but even the thought of food has me—" She stopped, closed her eyes, letting out a breath, before she opened her eyes again, shrugging at him, "I'm sorry. I do not mean to bore you with personal details you could care less about."

Vegeta could have refuted her at this point, informing her that he was quite curious as to what she was feeling, but he remained silent and stoic as he sat with his arms crossed. Maybe her personal assessment was correct—she had been keeping herself well occupied, between being social, working on her experiments and even this spy business. She always returned Basil's translations a day or two after he sent them to her—working at a much more efficient pace than those they hired at the war offices to translate did. Because of this, Basil had been sending more and more over to her—her workload was incredibly high. Perhaps they were overworking her?

Vegeta had to admit he was a little surprised to see her admit to such a fallacy as being overburdened. He had admired her ability to do it all…maybe that admiration had been misplaced?

Bulma sighed again, drawing his attention, rubbing her forehead. "Needless to say I did not wake up feeling well, and so I decided to take a day off from being the most popular girl in all of London." She gave him a waning smile at that point. "Of course, now that I've decided to take the day off from doing…well, anything…I feel much better now. I think I just need to sleep a bit more at night."

Vegeta did not disagree with her, studying her silently instead. Sensing that she was not looking for pity from him (a fools errands that would be, as Vegeta did not do pity, and he knew she was smart enough to know this), he gave her a curt nod. A silence descended over them, and Bulma went back to writing. Vegeta knew he should just tell her the message that Basil had sent along, instead found himself asking, "How are things going with the ship?"

Bulma looked at him, eyebrows raised in shock as her hand stilled on the paper she had been writing on. "Do you actually care?"

Vegeta felt a ping of annoyance at her questioning of him (was it really that surprising that he should ask how the taking apart of _his_ ship was going), so he growled, "Would I be asking if I didn't?"

Bulma gave a weak laugh, laying the pencil down on top of her lap as she smiled at him, "That is a valid point. You don't do small chat, do you?" She did not even wait for his answer before continuing, "It's going better than expected. I believe I can have your ship ready for a trial run in the next few weeks. My tests with model boats have all been going smoothly." She frowned, looking past him for a second as she spoke almost to herself, "Well, not counting the fire's and the capsizing." Vegeta felt his mouth open at this, but Bulma just looked back at him, shrugging again. "There's a big difference between models and real boats, though—and by the time I take your ship to the Thames, I know we won't even have to worry about silly things like explosions or going too fast for our weight."

Vegeta felt himself choking as he realized what she was saying. "Catch on fire?"

Bulma's gaze sharpened on him and he saw the old flames, which had always sparked a matching fire in him, in those eyes. "Honestly Vegeta, must you focus on the negative?"

Vegeta stared at her incredulous. "Oh excuse me—sorry if I'm concerned for the state of one of my ships if your models keep _turning over and exploding_!"

Bulma scowled at him. "Come on Vegeta, don't you know that an experiment must go wrong a hundred times before it is successful?"

Vegeta scowled right back. "Sorry, I am not a scientist—in my line of work, if you don't do it right the first time, you die."

Bulma shook her head, looking at her work, muttering under her breath, "Always so damn negative…."

Vegeta was irritated. Irritated with the way she was labeling him, irritated with the way she was acting so flippantly, and so he impetuously said, "You try living what I've lived through and try to tell me where the hell the positive side of life is."

Bulma's eyes grew large as he spoke, and she asked him, "And what have you lived through?

Vegeta considered giving her a slice of what his hellish life had been like before, but instead he simply frowned at her, grumbling, "You would not understand."

Bulma was going to say something, opened her mouth, than closed it. She resorted to just crossing her arms and frowning. "Is there a reason you came here? Or are you just here to point out how horrible I look, how you don't trust me with your ship, and how you think I'm an idiot who does not understand life?"

Vegeta pursed his lips in disapproval, than begrudgingly informed her, "Basil wants to meet with you tomorrow."

Bulma furrowed her brow. "What?"

Vegeta sighed, then handed her the note. Bulma scanned it quickly, then looked up at him. "Interesting. He doesn't say why. Do you have any idea?"

Vegeta shrugged, but stood, deciding that now that she knew, it would be better if he left. He was not sure what his new plan of attack was with her, and so he thought it best if he just evacuated before he said something else to earn her ire. Especially as she was rather testy at this moment—and, truth be told, so was he. Everything about her was like nails on a chalkboard for him at this moment. "I will meet you in the foyer at eleven-thirty a.m. sharp, though. It's best if we arrive there as close to noon as possible. Do not be late."

He was striding his way out, and he heard Bulma saying his name, but he walked on, ignoring her—needing to get away. Now that she was not acting like an invalid, he felt the never ceasing pulsing of desire coursing through his veins, especially as she spoke back to him. As he was about to walk through the doorway though, he felt something tap on the back of his head and he froze.

Vegeta frowned at the open door and the foreign sensation, then turned around, feeling his irritation hit a boiling point as he looked down at the pencil that had bounced harmlessly off the back of his head. The very pencil that Bulma had been writing with not that long ago. As he looked back up at her, his anger rising, he frowned as he saw she was on her knees on the couch, leaning on the back of it as she stared at him. She looked at him triumphant, and simply said, "No."

Vegeta took a second, turned back to the door, closing it very softly, deciding to lock it (he would need privacy to _murder_ her) and then stalked closer to Bulma, growling, "What do you mean, _no_?"

Bulma looked behind him to the closed door with a flick of her eyes, choosing not to comment. She looked at him, only smirking, and did not lean away as he stopped on the other side of the couch, the back the only thing separating them. "I mean no, I will not go with you to the park tomorrow."

Vegeta leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "Why not? Are you finally realizing what a shitty spy you would make? Too afraid to meet Basil?"

Bulma frowned at his words, and then tapped his forehead with her finger. "Think Vegeta! Kami, you can be such an idiot sometimes!"

Vegeta moved his face closer to hers, his nose practically touching hers as her position on the couch made them almost the same height. "You better explain that sentiment now, or else face my wrath."

Bulma smirked at him as she re-crossed her arms. Vegeta tried not to get distracted by the motion, but her dressing gown was untied and as she crossed her arms, her unbound breasts got pushed up, plumped up—making his already erratic heartbeat skip another beat. Her voice saved him from giving into lust right then, as she told him in that sugar sweet tone of hers, "Gladly. If we show up at the park at the same time tomorrow, we will draw the attention of every single person in the park. I'm the incomparable of the season, you're one of the most eligible bachelors in all of England! We can't show up together! How the hell could we have a secret spy meeting if we're being followed by every gossip in the Ton?"

Vegeta growled at the truth in her words, then mimicked her stance, crossing his arms and frowning at her. "So what's your brilliant plan then?"

Bulma smirked at him. "You go to the park by yourself, and I go with Ka…no, fuck it. He was my brother before he was your cousin. I'll go with Goku." Vegeta felt his anger pump through him at not only her use of unladylike cussing, but of Kakarrot's fake name as well, though he said nothing. "At ten to noon, I will create a distraction for Goku, and meet you by the folly."

As Vegeta studied her, the proud way she had her head tilted, the way she was softly panting from her angry deliverance of her plan, he had to fight the strange urge he had to smile. She was back—Bulma was back. No more of this super polite, extremely fake Bulma—the real one was back. She had insulted him, cursed him, and damn if she had not got his blood boiling. He would much rather have this version of Bulma back…if he could make her angry, he reasoned, he could make her passionate—just like he had in the gardens, and just like he had at the opera the other night….

Maybe fate had intervened at exactly the right time.

He had thought to wait her out even longer than a few days, but with the way she was looking at him, he knew he had her on the usual precipice that heralded the crumbling of whatever walls she put up between them. So he decided to help her off that precipice, and make her angry.

"Not a bad plan…" She smiled at him, and Vegeta waited for the right moment to give her a wicked smirk, "For a girl."

It was like he had set off a cannon. Her reaction was instantaneous, and he could not have predicated it more accurately if he had tried. Her whole body stiffened, and the next time she spoke her voice was an angry hiss. "What do you mean—like a girl? I'm a fucking genius Vegeta! You're nothing but…but a…a dumb aristocrat!"

Vegeta fought to regain his cool, especially as he saw that a heated blush was spreading all over her body—from the tops of the nightgown, to the roots of her hair. "Hmm, that might be true, but at least I know with my superior intellect and strength—"

She did not even let him finish, "YOU'RE SUPERIOR INTELLECT AND STRENGTH? WHEN'S THE LAST TIME YOU CONTRIBUTED ANYTHING BUT BRAWN TO ANY OF OUR DISCUSSIONS? DO YOU EVER USE THAT BRAIN OF YOURS—YOU'RE SO INFURIATING!" Bulma got so frustrated she stood from the couch, walking away from his as she took some deep, calming breaths, blowing off steam as she stared sightlessly at the spines of books. What the hell was wrong with him? Just minutes before he had seemed to actually care about her—and then he came back in here, insulting her intellect?

But where the hell had that even come from? Over the last few weeks, as they had worked together Bulma had always been impressed with how Vegeta had treated her as an equal. But Vegeta had been acting strange of late. Ever since that night of the opera, when things had gotten out of hand, and she had refused to let him in her room—she had been surprised he had not approached her again. She had been growing itchy with anticipation of the next time they would meet. And then he came in here, all moody, and brooding, and angry (as usual)—yet he had not tried a single thing on her yet. As soon as she had seen him, she had waited for him to make a move, and so far she had been…disappointed.

Vegeta spoke again, reclaiming her attention, "Please Bulma, at least I'm not living in denial like you."

That sparked Bulma's interest, and she turned back to face him as he stalked closer to where she stood in the corner. "Denial?"

He got very close, too close, and he leaned forward, smirking. "Now that there's not a door between us, do you want to try admitting to me why you wouldn't let me in that night of the opera?"

Bulma tried to take a step back, but found herself pushed against a wall, her palms flat against the wall as she looked at him. This was quickly spiraling out of her control…especially as he moved closer, his hands on either side of her head. Bulma took a deep gulp as she looked at him, noticing that in nothing but his cloth-shirt and breeches, (his casual look she had labeled it) that he was quite striking. It was not fair. Was this man not fetching in any state of dress?

Still, Bulma ignored her thumping heart as he leaned closer, their breaths mingling. She needed a story, and she needed one quick. "You said it yourself the night of the opera. You didn't pass the test I make all of my men go through."

Vegeta stopped, studying her, and then he let out a cruel laugh. "You truly are lacking in brainpower if you expect me to buy that. You think you can ignore the heat that exists between us?"

Bulma gulped, but nodded, unable to find her voice as she felt the heat of him encircle her. It was happening again—her heart was thumping, her skin was growing tingly, her breasts growing fuller with the need of him…

Vegeta gave her that wicked smirk that always caused her flesh to heat, and leaned even closer, his hot breath fanning against her sensitive skin. "Liar."

Before she could respond (not that she could respond), Vegeta moved closer and closed the gap between them, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her close to him as he kissed her.

Bulma put her defenses up, expecting the rough, angry kisses she had come to crave from him—but found herself utterly bewildered as Vegeta did not assault her mouth as he usually did. Instead, he pressed his warm, firm lips to hers, coaxing her, his lips sliding softly over hers. His arms wrapped around her, but they did not pull her forcefully against him, instead just letting their bodies melt together as he poured all of his need for her into those kisses.

This was—this was new, and completely unexpected, and before she knew it, Bulma was melting under Vegeta's skillful ministrations. Her mouth opened in a soft groan, and he softly slipped his tongue inside of her mouth enticing her to join the kiss, to press her body against his as his lips and tongue worked carefully on her mouth.

It might not be the frenetic pace that Bulma was used to from Vegeta—but it was causing all of the fires in her to be stoked to life like the rough kisses usually did. Bulma was completely overwhelmed by the erotic way his tongue played with her mouth, running along her bottom lip, tasting the insides of her cheeks and the roof of her mouth, before playing with her own tongue in a slow burning, erotic kiss.

Bulma let out a sigh, and softened into Vegeta's warm body as he continued the kiss, his arms still wrapped around her back, holding her delicately to him. This was so unlike anything she had ever experienced with him—it wasn't animalistic, and it wasn't rough, but it was every bit as exciting. It seemed that with these slower kisses she could really get a glimpse at the man Vegeta was, and what he was thinking. With the way he was treating her, Bulma could not help but wonder if Vegeta actually did…care.

This was a side of Vegeta she could not remember ever having seen before, and she had to admit she liked it. The way he was gently holding her, while still causing her body to slowly burn into a raging inferno—where had this Vegeta been hiding?

Bulma did not protest as Vegeta began to undress her, her robe and night rail disappearing as his soft kisses began to cloud her mind, bringing her to a state of only feeling. His hands began a gentle exploration of her body, running down the length of her spine, causing electricity to run down the sensitive nerves in her back, her whole body starting to prickle with the need for more of Vegeta. As he fitted his hands around the curve of her bottom, giving her a light squeeze before lifting her up, Bulma responded automatically, her legs wrapping around his body.

As she did, Bulma shivered as she felt the naked, heated feeling of skin against skin. Somewhere in their increasingly feverish kissing, his clothes seemed to have vanished with hers, and there was nothing between them, a new state she was wholly unused to. The softness of her curves pressed into the masculine strength of his heated body, needing this, needing to feel him—wishing that they were one. She felt the naked heat of his erection pushing insistently into her bottom and she felt a responding call in her own body. Bulma's hands wrapped around Vegeta's naked back, holding herself to him as he carried them over to one of the large reading chairs, unable to let any amount of distance come between them.

Vegeta lowered himself to the chair, positioning Bulma so that she was straddling him with her nakedness, her legs on either side of his hips. She let out a whimper of disappointment as Vegeta broke their mouths apart, but sighed in sweet satisfaction as his mouth began a heated exploration of her body. There was something so…pure about what they were doing, even though Bulma knew that this was wrong, so wrong—but how could something so beautiful, something that made her feel so beautiful…and cared for…be wrong?

Vegeta's mouth tasted her neck as his fingers began to delicately outline the curves of her body. One of his hands came to her breast, squeezing it, palming the heavy weight, before lifting it to his eager mouth. Bulma readied herself for his usual delicious assault, but once again, Vegeta surprised her by being gentle. He took his time to taste her, using his tongue to trace her breast, running along the sensitive nerves of her aureole before pulling her into his mouth, leaving her breathless with the way the gentle kisses he laved upon her caused her whole body to heat up as if a fire was rising through her in crashing waves.

Each time his fingers gently pressed into her, or his tongue caressed her, the waves would crash higher and higher inside of her, and she found her body growing restless as he continued to tease her. As she began to move against his legs, she heard that dark chuckle she only got from him in intimate moments like these, and he brought her in for another kiss. Bulma buried her hands in his coarse hair, holding him to her, and when he pulled back she let out a whimper of disappointment.

That hot, dark voice of his was husky and deep, another seductive tool against her nonexistent defenses. "How about now, Bulma? Can you deny what we have?"

Bulma shook her head, but as she leaned forward to kiss him again, Vegeta caught her chin. "Open your eyes, Bulma. I want you to look at me when you tell me you can't."

Bulma slowly opened her eyes, blinking, even against the dim candlelight of the room, her vision fuzzy from the lustful haze she was in. She opened her eyes fully, looking at Vegeta, focusing in on those black eyes of his. How could she ever think there was nothing behind them? Right now, as he stared at her with the most possessive look she had ever seen, she could read a thousand things in them. Mostly passion and heat…but other things that Bulma was not afraid to admit scared her.

The way he was looking at her, Bulma blinked once, looking away, before taking a deep breath, sighing as she met his eyes again. "I can't." She took another breath, before admitting, "I need you, Vegeta.

Vegeta gave her an erotic smile, and Bulma knew that was all he needed to hear. He pulled her lips back to his, and as his mouth began its erotic seduction of her own all over again, she felt his questing fingers dip between them, running through the tuft of blue hair that covered her sex.

As he touched her most intimate place, Bulma groaned into his mouth as his fingers dipped into her wet sheath, testing her, probing her, causing the raging inferno inside of her to spiral out of control. But it was not enough—even as he circled her clit with his thumb, his masterful fingers sending her to the edge of something wonderful, something she was beginning to crave—she knew that there was more, so much more. Something that had haunted her since she had felt incomplete after the night at the opera.

Vegeta would not let her finish without him this time, and he withdrew his fingers from her intimate folds, his hands going to her hips, lifting her slightly off of him. Her hands came to his shoulders for balance, feeling confusion at this new position, but she trusted him, knowing that whatever he was setting up for would be bliss.

Vegeta used one of his hands to position his own sex at her entrance, the flushed head of his cock prodding between her folds, and Bulma shuddered with prurient anticipation.

As he used his hands on her hips to slowly guide her back down, Bulma let out a long moan as he entered her. He pressed into her in new and unexpected ways, filling her completely as lowered her until their bodies were completely coupled. Bulma held herself completely motionless as they sat there, fused together, joined as one, letting herself get used to him, to the still strange way he stretched her body. It was slightly uncomfortable still, as her body was still unused to that of having a man inside of her, but as she grew more comfortable, Bulma leaned forward and kissed Vegeta again, telling him that she was ready.

Vegeta used his hands on her hips to guide her, back up, before thrusting up as he pulled her down, and this time Bulma's low moan become a loud groan. This—this was new, and delightful, and so unlike the first time they had had sex. This was not rushed and sloppy, but beautiful and explosive.

Vegeta's hands on her hips helped, but before long, Bulma found her own rhythm, her body taking over as she began to rock against Vegeta, pressing her hips into his as she used the momentum of his body to press them closer together, twisting her hips different ways to see which angles made him hit that spot, right there…. Bulma began to pick up speed, and the delicious friction of before caused another fire to start right at her core, somewhere unexpected and new, as tension, wonderful tension, began to build in every nerve ending she possessed.

Vegeta mouth did not break from hers as their pace grew more frantic, more heated, more passionate, and as Vegeta pushed into her one final time, Bulma felt something inside of her break as her body exploded into sensation. Her every limb, every molecule inside of her it seemed, burst into feeling as a delightful rush of…something, something heated, ran all through her body, changing her, making her feel so different, yet so much better all at the same time. Her knees went weak, and she grew completely dependent on him as the sensations continued to dart through her body, giving her wave after wave of pleasure.

She felt Vegeta stroke into her a few more times, before he stiffened underneath her, finding his own release as he groaned into her mouth, their kisses stilling as they broke apart, panting. There were a few blissful moments where neither was aware of anything but the sensations of their joined bodies, but as reality slipped back in, Bulma began to slacken against him, completely overwhelmed. Vegeta's hands guided her so that her head was resting in the crook of his neck, Bulma breathing in the musky scent that was Vegeta and sex. She wished this moment would never end.

This had not been normal—this had not even been their usual anger and passion fueled shared experience. This had been something completely different, something so completely unexpected it had taken Bulma by surprise. The first time she had found completion with him, climax if she was remembering the term correctly, it had been a hard and fast orgasm (was that the scientific term?) that had shaken her whole body and rocked her whole world. This—this went beyond that.

It had been a slower, more gradual build, but when she had found her peak, reached her crescendo as it were, it had not just been her body that had been involved like the first time, or that rapid succession of orgasms she had had the night at the opera. This time, every bit of her—her soul, her body…her heart, had felt involved and moved, changing her as a person. This was something so unanticipated, this side of Vegeta that was slow and gentle, yet every bit as exciting with her…it touched something deep inside of her she had been trying to ignore. She had given her body to Vegeta the night of the Vegetasei ball…but in the weeks that had followed, as they met, even as she went full on ice-queen with him, she had slowly and slowly given more and more of herself to him.

Bulma did not want to analyze it too much, especially not when she was so damned comfortable, with him holding her to him, basking in the heated warmth of his body, but she had a feeling she was in deep trouble. She forced herself to stop thinking, and to only slowly breathe in and out, delighting in the new sensations Vegeta had introduced her too.

As she lay against Vegeta, she felt him stiffen up, his head rearing up.

Bulma lazily tried to lift her head as she felt the change in his body. "What is it?"

Vegeta used his hands to guide her back to his shoulder, stroking her hair softly as he whispered to her, "Nothing. Shhh…."

As he felt Bulma relax against him, Vegeta forced his muscles to relax as well, trying to force himself back into that post-nirvana state he had been in not even thirty seconds before. It was hard though, especially as he realized that the sound he had just heard was that of the dowager's cane moving away from the locked door of the library….

* * *

><p>AN: Duhn duhn duhhhhhh! I think its safe to assume that the dowager is the very last person anyone wants lurking about when they are trying to have sex, let alone Vegeta and Bulma. Nothing good comes of the dowager being involved—though that probably goes without saying at this point….

Thanks to everyone who responded to my question—I guess I'll just keep posting when I can, trying to make it more regular though. We are getting to the good part, so I can't imagine not wanting to write as quickly as possible…

Next up, the meeting with Basil—just what could he want with Bulma?


	21. What a Folly!

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing.

A/N: You guys rock. When I have a chapter come out of nowhere and I put it out there, worrying that it won't fit in with everything else I've written, you guys all give me the love/support I need to continue writing. Honestly. I love you all!

Lilpumpkingirl, way to deal with my crazy! Mwha ha ha…No, but seriously, you are awesome, and I'm glad there's now someone for me to actually talk to (and develop!) this story with. You're amazing!

Finally (look away for anyone who doesn't like it when author's get too personal!), I want to dedicate this particular chapter (hell the whole story) to my Grandmother. She's the one who introduced me to my love for romance novels at a very young age, and without her, I don't think I would be sitting here writing this story (well that kinda goes without saying, but you get the point, hopefully). She was a beautiful and wonderful woman, who lived a very full and exciting life, and she will be extremely missed. Love you G-ma.

Chapter Twenty: What a Folly!

Vegeta was the first one to arrive at the folly the next day. Though his appearance had drawn some speculation among those at Hyde, no one commented on it as he walked alone through the park. To them he was just another peer making his way through the popular park—the only oddity being that it was the Dark Duke walking through the park like he had not a care in the world.

He hated to admit it—but Bulma had been right. People were glancing at him for only a second before moving onto to watching the rest of the aristocrats in the park, hungry for juicier gossip than the Duke of Vegetasei out for a stroll. This was much better than what he had been planning.

Dammit.

If he had shown up with Bulma to the park at the same time, the polite interest he was receiving now would have turned into a downright gossip frenzy of societal piranhas. He shivered at that thought. He hated being the center of attention, and if he was seen walking through the park with Bulma, even if she had a maid (and it would be rather plausible, their walking together, as they lived together—hell, maybe he was just escorting her somewhere), he might as well have been announcing their engagement, the way these people would be taking it. He snorted at that thought—no way in hell was he going to let that happen.

He walked through park at his leisurely pace, his leisurely pace being on par with most people's regular pace (Vegeta did not do anything leisurely, that was for damned sure), and arrived at the folly about ten minutes early. It did not take him long to find Basil sitting on a bench by the folly, reading a newspaper, looking very relaxed, as if he had nothing better to do in the world than read the paper in the middle of the day. Basil did not look up as Vegeta watched him from across the expanse of green; rather, he curled his pinky finger and touched it to his forefinger, signaling acknowledgement. Vegeta flashed him the same symbol back, then slowly began to walk around the folly, taking his time.

Vegeta would not approach Basil nor would Basil approach Vegeta until Bulma got there. It was just too conspicuous for the two of them to be talking than for Bulma to make her appearance and join them in conversation as well. Especially since Bulma would be showing up sans brother, and, knowing Bulma, sans maid—the height of impropriety, and if not done the right way, would be sure to draw everyone in the vicinity's attention. No reason to attract any unnecessary notice, since Bulma showing up was sure to always draw some form of attention—this had to be done carefully. He was sure once she arrived they would signal, find some more secluded, private spot to meet and have their conversation.

So all he could do right now was wait for Bulma.

So he waited.

And he waited.

And…

….

…

…Waited.

And finally when it seemed he could not wait anymore—Vegeta thought to go to the Serpentine and find Bulma himself, dragging her here by that infamous blue hair—Basil made a hand movement and Vegeta grumpily went back to waiting, feigning great interest in the folly that he still thought was quite ridiculous. Why would you build something to look like it was crumbling and decaying? Damn useless, that's what that was.

Maybe he was too convincing of his interest in the folly, though. The longer he stared at the damn monstrosity, the more he began to notice other people on the mostly empty path watching both him and the folly with fascination. Oh great—knowing his luck people would think he was thinking of getting one and would buy one for themselves, trying to beat him in starting the new (old) fad of having a folly. He was probably inadvertently starting the whole damn trend all over again.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Vegeta turned away from the folly itself, and walked into the dense copse of trees that surrounded it. He would just take a roundabout walk that would put him back by the ruins—hopefully by then Bulma would have found her damn way to it already and they could get this meeting over with.

She better—or else he might have to kill her.

Vegeta hated waiting.

Mainly because it gave him time to think about things he would rather not think about right at this moment. Things he had been putting out of his mind working on boring estate business that took up all of his time and thought. Here though, as he strolled through Hyde, he was unpleasantly confronted by all of the thoughts he had rather thought not to think about….

Yesterday, when he had seduced Bulma he had grabbed her with the intention of kissing her with every fiber of his being, showing her his real passion. But something had changed the moment he had touched her, something had made him go from grabbing her to holding her, from possessing her to joining her in a slow mating instead.

It had been an odd (and new) experience to say the least.

While Vegeta had always thought of himself as a considerate lover, who made sure that the woman walked away just as satisfied as him (if not more so), yesterday had truly been the first time he had put the needs of the woman first. His own climax had been secondary to showing Bulma what kind of desire flamed between them. He had gone slow, enjoying just kissing her, touching her—it had been unexpected, that was for sure.

As were the rush of emotions he had felt as he had held her, helping her ride him. Sex had always been sex to him, a physical release that was enjoyable with the right women. But it had never been an experience that focused solely on making a connection with someone else, of making two bodies into one. Yet, that was exactly what he had shared with Bulma last night.

It disturbed him…and if that was not enough, as he had sat there, holding her to him—he was pretty damn sure he had heard the dowager. Great, just fucking great. That was all he needed—the dowager finding out about Bulma and him. She would probably think he was just carrying out the plans she had set out for him, and that he was ruining Bulma. If he was not careful, and the dowager really had found out, the whole of the ton might find out and Bulma's reputation would be in tatters. He shuddered at that, wondering just what he would do if that ever did happen…

Before he could think further on that thought, Bulma's familiar voice broke into his thoughts. "Oh there you are Vegeta. Basil and I were just wondering where you were."

Vegeta felt a pulse start to tick in his temple at her tone, and he clenched his jaw as he saw Bulma and Basil standing not too far from him, Bulma giving him a chiding smile. After he had left her in the library yesterday, he had not seen her again, not had he tried to approach her. He did not want the dowager to get any satisfaction in seeing them together, in case his deepest fears about her finding out were true. So he had left their encounter yesterday with the resolve to put some space between Bulma and him, as he needed to figure out just what the dowager knew before he decided whether or not carrying on an affair with Bulma would be a wise move. Before yesterday's more involved sexual encounter he would have said yes…after it, though….

Vegeta took the slow walk over to where Bulma and Basil were standing, shielded from the path's view by a dense copse of trees, taking in Bulma. She looked—Kami-dammit. She looked beautiful—more than she usually did. As she watched him, her eyes were bright, and she was practically glowing as she gave him a smile. Not only that, but she seemed to have grown into herself even more…if that was possible. Vegeta's irritation grew—why was it when he wanted her the most, Bulma put up all of her defenses, but now that she wanted him right back, he had to take things damn slow? What the fuck, universe?

Vegeta switched his glance over to Basil, who was watching him amused, and Vegeta flicked his eyes back to Bulma and glared back at her, his annoyance at her being late and waltzing in here all happy and glowing, growing to an irrational level.

Bulma ignored his sour look though when he finally joined the two of them, still smiling as she informed him, "I saw Basil, and introduced myself, but he said that you had wandered off. Really Vegeta, for someone who claims to be so punctual…."

Vegeta's voice was strangled when he answered, "_I_ was on time. I was just trying to not draw too much attention by skulking around the folly for an extreme amount of time, so I was trying to make it less obvious that I was waiting for someone by going for a walk." Bulma gave him a disbelieving look and he glared at her as he felt his blood begin to simmer. "And where the hell have you been? It's almost twelve-thirty!"

Bulma had the grace to pinken slightly, though her voice was carefully neutral as she flicked her hand at him dismissively. "Oh I'm not that late, Vegeta. I had a later start than I anticipated, and it took a few minutes for me to dispense of Go...Kakarrot."

Vegeta was starting to realize that she only called Kakarrot by his real name when she was either trying to appease Vegeta or get one up on him. Not knowing what angle she was going for yet, he felt his teeth grinding when he spoke next, "Did you get rid of him?"

Bulma nodded, her wide eyes earnest as she informed him, "He's chasing after the model ship I lost down the Serpentine. We have about twenty minutes until it explodes, in which case we'll have about 5 more minutes for him to make it back to where I should be—which is about two minutes away. So we have twenty-three minutes." She gave a beaming smile to both men as she finished, and Vegeta's temper heated up further at her upbeat attitude.

Basil, it seemed, had no such problem with Bulma's peppiness. "Well done, Miss Briefs."

Vegeta felt the tick of his pulse turn into a full on pounding, especially as Basil praised her, and he could not keep the snarl out of his tone as he spoke, "Well aren't we all good and blessed then that you can get away for a full twenty minutes. Gee—lucky us." Vegeta waited a second, ignoring the hurt look Bulma was giving him, as well as the curious one Basil was watching him with, before he angrily asked, "And how the hell did you even know who Basil was? How were you sure you weren't just introducing yourself to some random man sitting on a bench?"

Bulma raised a brow and seemed to steel herself after Vegeta's tirade, looking to Basil. "You are Basil, the esteemed gardener, are you not?"

Basil gave her another kind smile, "Yes, I am Basil, Vegeta's gardener. You did not foolishly introduce yourself to some random man on a bench."

Bulma smirked as she looked back to Vegeta. "It wasn't as if there were scores of unaccompanied men sitting around the folly Vegeta. If you were there, you would have known that."

Vegeta growled, and had to stop himself from reaching for her and shaking her soundly for her impudence. How was it possible that the same woman who could get his blood boiling with lust, could make him angrier than any other living being?

Bulma resisted the urge she had to stick her tongue out at Vegeta as he stared at her as if he wanted to murder her, and instead turned towards Basil giving him her best 'I'm ready to listen' look. She did not know what had changed in Vegeta from yesterday to today, but she was willing to admit in the few months she had known the Duke, the one thing she was coming to expect was his completely unreadable moods and mood swings. She had thought he would be happy to see her…especially after what they had gone through yesterday. Instead he was as surly and irritable as he always was. Men!

Bulma forced herself to ignore the conundrum that was Vegeta, and turned towards Basil, all business. "Well let's get down to it then. You wanted to meet with me, Basil? Is this the appropriate place to talk?"

Basil gave Vegeta a searching glance, especially after the tone Vegeta had used to speak to Bulma (where was the usual stoic Duke?), but then Basil looked to Bulma as she spoke. "Well this is as good a place as any to meet. No one ever comes out to this part of Hyde, but still, keep your eyes and ears open." Bulma gave a serious nod, and Vegeta rolled his eyes at her sincerity, muttering something that was most likely ungentlemanly under his breath. Basil just continued, ignoring the sulking Duke, turning towards Bulma fully. "Thank you for finally meeting with me, Miss Briefs."

Bulma gave him a bright smile. "Of course." She hesitated, then bluntly said, "I'm just curious as to why you wanted to finally meet. I've been working for you for over a month. Why now?"

"Did Vegeta fill you in on what he found at the Opera?"

Bulma shook her head, and they both turned to look at Vegeta, expectant. Vegeta, still in peevish mood at Bulma's waltzing in late and somehow making him feel the fool, forced himself to tamp his anger and irritation down. He knew when to let his anger show, and when it was time to be serious. Though he would much rather lecture Bulma, he switched back into spy mode, telling himself he would get the opportunity to lecture her good and sound about the necessity of good-time keeping (and maybe emphasize the point with a rather sound spanking).

"When I was searching the actors' rooms the other night at the opera, I found that the lead five actors had an identical pin that had the Russian eagle of the Tsar on it. Because of this, and their position as actors, we suspect they are a group of assassins and spies for Russia, who go by the name 'The Ginyu Force.'"

Bulma leaned closer to him, her interest shining through in her eyes. "And this is the same Ginyu Force that we think I overheard speaking to Zhelonie?"

Basil spoke up, "Precisely. When his grace brought us this information, we began to follow them and intercept messages they were sending."

Vegeta, anger forgotten as he heard the latest development, looked to Basil in full on spy mode. "What did you find?"

Basil's face was grim. "It's not good. We have strong reason to believe that the Tsesarevich himself is either on his way to London, or already here."

Bulma's face lost all color as she mumbled, "Frieza? Here?" She could just imagine the horrors he would unleash on the unsuspecting British society. Or just what this meant to what her and Vegeta had long speculated Frieza wanted with England. If he were here (or on his way) it meant big trouble for everyone. He was not just after some foreign land-holdings—he was most likely after the British crown on the whole. What better jewel to add to the already sparkling crown of the Russian empire than that of the British Empire?

Basil gave a solemn nod. "Yes. But it gets worse…"

Vegeta's frown deepened. "Worse?"

"Yes. We have reason to believe that there is a mole in the War Offices—or that the Ginyu have been able to find a way in. We fear the worst."

Vegeta felt something cold trickle down his back as he saw how worried his usually implacable superior looked. "What do you mean?"

"I suspect we have a leak…but that is not what is important to us. What is important is that they, the mole, seem to be collecting a list of the top ranking spies we have working for the crown…and either the Ginyu Force, or Zhelonie, are eliminating them one by one."

Bulma let out a whispered, "Oh my Kami." She slackened against the tree closest to her as she realized what he was saying.

Vegeta was not doing much better than Bulma. This was bad. Wait, strike that. This definitely went beyond bad. This went to straight up horrible, abominable, atrocious, and a whole host of other adjectives he could not think of as the depth of the situation hit him. Vegeta's voice was almost a whisper when he spoke next, "How many have we lost so far?"

"We have lost three men this past week alone, and about one a week since we suspected Zhelonie first arrived. We did not take much notice at first—Zhelonie, or Ginyu, whoever is carrying these killings off, are smart. They started with a couple of men who were further out and did not come to season, or were doing dangerous tasks for us already. It was not apparent they were being murdered either…but after what Miss Briefs heard, what you told us, and what we gleaned from the notes we intercepted—not to mention the three deaths in the past week—we cannot help but put them all together as a plot. The men who are dead are not connected in any way other than being spies."

Bulma was holding her neck as she spoke, looking very scared. "Were the deaths brutal?"

Basil shook his head, "Not at first. Like I said they were more subtle, seemingly natural deaths. A few seemed to be heart attacks, what we now suspect is poison, and others had horrible 'accidents'—getting kicked by a horse, falling off of a roof—that we cannot help but question how accidental they really were."

Vegeta's face was severely set. "The Russians must be getting closer to doing whatever it is they want to do if they are murdering them less slowly, and with less finesse."

Basil frown was etched deep on his countenance, and Vegeta really saw his supervisor's age as the lines around his face seemed to deepen with that look. "As I said, we are fearing the worst."

Vegeta started to pace, feeling his adrenaline pumping as he thought out loud, "So do we know how many names they have, or whose names might be on that list?"

"No. The notes intercepted have been helpful in letting us begin to understand the plot, but they are too smart to put real, incriminating information in these notes." Basil heaved a tired sounding sigh as he continued, "But they have been going after our top ranking spies, so like I said, we can only assume the worst, really."

Vegeta turned to face him, stopping mid-pace. "So what is our next step?"

"After reviewing what Miss Briefs overheard Zhelonie say about passing another list on to the Ginyu Force this week, we strongly believe this might be a list of English spies, or at least another clue of what the whole plot is. We need to search the Ginyu force's hotel, to see if we can get a list of the names they are working with so we can begin to see who exactly is compromised and how extensive the leak is. If we can discover who they are going after we can bring the compromised spies somewhere where they would be safe, or at least give them the heads up about what is going on."

Vegeta gave a nod. "Right. I can find out when their next performance is, and break into the hotel the night of their performance."

Bulma broke in after a lengthy, absorbed silence, her eyes worried as she looked at him. "You can't though, Vegeta."

Vegeta turned to her, having forgotten she was here while he had questioned Basil. "What do you mean, I can't? I can assure you I have been breaking into hotels longer than you have been walking, and will have no problem completing the simple task of searching a few rooms."

Bulma gave him a rather sad sort of smile that made Vegeta uncomfortable—it was chiding and pitying at the same time. "It does not matter how long you've been doing this, or how good you are at it. You still can't go." Bulma looked past Vegeta, to Basil. "That's why I'm here, isn't it? Vegeta can't go, because you think his name might be one of those who is compromised." Basil gave a nod, and Bulma looked back to Vegeta, who was staring at her in astonishment as the heaviness of her words set in. If Vegeta's job as a spy had been exposed the least of his worries were some sort of plot on his life, as it meant that all of his careful plans might be for naught….

Bulma did not notice Vegeta's self-crisis though, as she continued, "You need me to go, because you need someone they would never suspect. My name is not on any list in the war offices, and since you aren't sure how deep the leak goes, you don't know who is and who isn't implicated in your offices."

Basil gave a nod again. "I see that your intellect is every bit as sharp as we have hoped it is. You are correct. No one really knows about you—any mole in the War Offices would assume any correspondence taken to your residence would be for his Grace, and would never suspect an American heiress of working for us. Since we are not sure how many names have been given, or indeed, who is being watched, we cannot use any of our own people."

Bulma was nodding, a spark entering her eyes, but Vegeta, who had been brought back from his personal catastrophe as the two carried on the conversation, found himself growling as the two seemed to come to some wordless understanding without him. "Absolutely not! No way in hell am I going to allow you to do what you think you are agreeing to!"

The two of them turned to face him, Basil's eyebrows up with interest at Vegeta's uncharacteristic display of emotion, Bulma frowning at him. She gave him a consoling smile, speaking softly as she said, "Really Vegeta, it is the only way."

Vegeta stalked closer to her, his anger making him impulsive as he grabbed her, pulling her so they were almost touching. "The hell it is! You are in no way shape or form ready for whatever the hell you think this entails, Bulma! Are you even thinking of what kind of danger you are placing yourself in if you agree to do this?"

Bulma tried to struggle out of his gasp, but he only tightened his fingers around her arms feeling his heartbeat quicken as he imagined what kind of peril she was putting herself in if she agreed to do this. This went beyond dangerous…did she not realize how she was placing her life in peril?

Bulma stopped struggling, looking at him, pleading. "Vegeta, I am perfectly capable of sneaking around or breaking and entering. Especially into an empty hotel room.

He put his face closer to hers, completely forgetting they were not alone as he softly and menacingly told her, "You are a fool—you are not a spy, you have no training for this—you are no way, in any shape or form, prepared for this kind of thing. I doubt you could even disguise yourself so that you were not instantly recognized!"

Bulma frowned at him, her nose rising high as she haughtily informed him, "I tricked you, didn't I?"

Vegeta glared at her. "When? On the ship? I saw through your disguise in an instant!"

Bulma's eyes sparked with anger, and she opened her mouth to speak. Except when she spoke it was not her voice that came out, "Dinna tell me ye forgot me already, aye Vegeta?"

Vegeta let go of her, stumbling back a step as that Irish brogue, that of a lad, not of a girl, hit him like a physical blow. It only took a second for him to place that voice, making him remember that long-ago day he had stopped in a Capsule Corp. shop to ask for directions. The striking blue eyes of the shop keep, the small form of him—the hint of blue hair he had dismissed all struck Vegeta as he gaped at Bulma. "You!"

Bulma's smile was grim. "Aye, it was me you met in the shop that firs' day." Bulma switched back to her more polished American tone as she told him, "You didn't recognize me as a shop keep then, so I think I am fairly adept at fooling others." Bulma turned to look at Basil who was watching the whole exchange with uncharacteristic interest. "My brother and I have always turned to mischief when we were bored. Because of that, I can adopt a variety of accents and costumes and am quite used to sneaking around." She paused, then added thoughtfully, "I'm also the fastest tree climber in New York State, no matter what Goku says about the teacher always besting the student."

Vegeta turned away as Bulma spoke, trying to calm himself as he leaned on a tree, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut as if he could block out the anger he was feeling. That bitch had fooled him—and now, because of that, she thought that she could fool a group of murderer's? Did she realize how lightly she was taking this? He did not even recognize that the hit to his pride had been minimal in comparison to the worry he was starting to feel for Bulma. She was completely serious in going through with this? Was she an idiot?

Vegeta turned back to the two of them, stalking closer, but restrained himself from grabbing her again. "You are the biggest sort of fool if you think a few pranks pulled with your brother have prepared you for what you can face in the world of espionage! Do you realize the risk you would be taking? Is it truly worth it to you, to prove that you could spy, to lose your life? And that's a best-case scenario—what if the Ginyu, or another Russian spy finds you snooping? Do you know what kind of hell and torture they can put you, a beautiful young woman, through?" Bulma had the grace to look abashed, and Vegeta turned back to Basil. "This is not going to happen! There's no way this is our best option!"

"Actually, your Grace," Basil cut in, "Miss Briefs is not only our best option—she is our only option. Seeing as the suspected members of the Ginyu force are all performing tomorrow night one last time before they move out of London, and they are currently our only link to Zhelonie, let alone Frieza—we do not have enough time to try and figure out whom we can safely send in. We have to move now, before we lose this slim chance."

Bulma looked back at Vegeta, her eyes wide as she pleaded, "Vegeta, you must realize how serious this is, and how Basil is not making this choice lightly. I doubt he has any other option if he is coming to me—I have only been working for the crown for a little over a month. Hardly enough time for him to truly come to trust me. They must be desperate."

Vegeta's jaw was clenched, and Bulma saw a ticking muscle by his neck that belied his anger. But she knew he was smart enough to process her words carefully, and he did not say anything as he stewed silently, his eyes flitting between the two of them. If she did not know him better, the wounded look he was giving her would make her think…well…it would make her think that he cared about her…. But she was probably reading too deep into things, especially after the way he had made love to her yesterday in the library. Right now, his pride was probably more wounded that Basil had asked her to carry out this important task than him, rather than having actual concern for her well being.

Basil spoke again, "She is right. We really do not know what else we can do at this point, until we figure out who the mole is and how much information they have—we don't even know who we can trust right now."

Vegeta stared at them both, forlornly, the futility of fighting his superior, and the world's most stubborn woman sinking in. Some part of him, the part that could still rationalize even when Vegeta was at his angriest, that very small part that still had some sense whenever he thought to touch Bulma, was cranking along, realizing that Basil and Bulma were both right. Bulma was really their only smart choice, and without her, they would not have a chance. And she was smart enough to be trusted with this. Yet…

He turned away for a second, clenching and unclenching his fists, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath as he fought to regain his emotions. When he opened his eyes back up and turned around he had gotten enough control of himself to speak clearly and to make his face as stoic as it could be in this situation. "What hotel are they staying at?"

Basil sighed, "The Regency." At seeing both of their stunned faces as hearing the most popular, opulent hotel in London named, Basil continued, "I'm sure they have both the Opera house and Frieza paying for them to keep apartments there."

Vegeta nodded slowly, thinking, absentmindedly muttering, "That works out better for us."

Bulma looked at him, surprised at his words. "Us?"

Vegeta was pulled from his thoughts at her words, and gave her a sharp look. "Did you really think I would have you do this completely alone?"

Bulma's mouth gaped for a second, and then she slowly closed it as she saw the completely earnest look in Vegeta's features. Warmth bloomed through her body at the bliss of hearing him call them an us, to know that he was going to be there tomorrow night. He had no idea how much pleasure she had wrought from his words, but seeing how protective he was being of her and how unwilling he was to leave her completely alone on this (though that could easily be attributed to his not trusting her (she chose to ignore this option)) had her feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. With the adrenaline that was pumping through her blood, this made an odd mixture that was making her buoyant and…happy. Rather than say something stupid (or something emotional), Bulma put on her serious face as she looked at Vegeta.

"What are you thinking?"

Vegeta began to pace again. "Well I can figure out a way to get us into the hotel, and even on the same floor as them—past that though, I'm still thinking." He stopped, looking at Basil as he spelled his plan out, "We go to the hotel and inform them I am renting a suite for my newest mistress, and ask for the luxury suites—I'm assuming they're staying in the best rooms."

Basil nodded to Vegeta's question, but then thoughtfully queried, "So you take Bulma in as your mistress? But what if they are watching you—we don't need Miss Briefs linked to you, as that would ruin her cover."

Bulma spoke up, already buying into this plan. "I will not be going as myself when I go with Vegeta as his newest conquest! Can you imagine the amount of scandal that would cause if word got out? Forget my cover being blown as a spy—the ensuing humiliation would ensure that Vegeta and I would both never be able to show our face in proper society again! Forget about finding Zhelonie then! No." She took a deep breath, then explained simply, "I will go in a disguise." She looked to Vegeta. "A blonde wig should do it."

Bulma fell silent for a second, and Basil was going to interject, when Bulma's shoulders straightened, her eyes brightening. "I've got it! Can one of you get me a maids costume to wear as well? And a different colored wig than the blonde one?"

They looked to her with interest, Vegeta wondering just what kind of plan she had already thought of….

"Of course Miss Briefs."

Bulma smiled. "Excellent." She turned to them both, excitement shining through in her words, "Once Vegeta and his 'mistress' are in their new room, I can change into the maid's costume and put the new wig on and sneak into the Ginyu Force's room that way." She looked at them, her blue eyes earnest and wide. "That way even if they are watching Vegeta they will know he went into the hotel room with a blonde. If I go to the room as a, lets say redheaded, maid—hopefully they would not put two and two together. From there, I can look through the rooms, find the list and take it. If I am caught, I can play the part and pretend I was simply cleaning."

Basil was thoughtfully nodding. "Good—except don't take the list. We just need a copy of it. If we take it, then they will know something was up. We want them to think we have not gotten a hold of their plan yet. The best element in our line of business is that of surprise."

Bulma looked at him thoughtfully, "Of course—so I copy the list, and go back to our room. We wait just long enough that it would not be suspicious if we left, and waltz out of the hotel looking like two satisfied lovers, no one the wiser." She smiled, turning to Vegeta for assurances as she finished, "I think we might have the beginning of a beautiful plan." Before Vegeta could agree with her, though, Bulma suddenly gave an exclamation, "Oh!" Then hurriedly pulled out a pocket watch from the pocket in her gown (she would have a pocket watch, Vegeta thought), and frowned. "I must get back before Kakarrot discovers I'm gone." She looked back up at them, all business. "Gentleman. Can I expect the costumes tonight? I need to practice getting ready as quickly as possible."

Basil gave a bow. "Of course. The War Offices wishes you the best of luck tomorrow." He hesitated before he gave another bow. "And thank you, Miss Briefs, for you cooperation."

Bulma smiled at him. "A pleasure, Basil." She looked to Vegeta, and gave him a dazzling smile. "Your Grace." Then she was gone.

Basil waited until he was sure she was gone, not just stopped, listening to them on the other side of the trees, before he turned to Vegeta, eye sparkling with interest. Vegeta could fathom why the interest was there, but rather than comment, he just looked at Basil, challenging him to say something. Basil, being a smart man, only mildly said, "Miss Briefs certainly is a force of nature, isn't she? I am glad to see she is every bit as smart as you told us she was."

Vegeta still felt a great unease at this whole plan, thinking back to everything that had been said between them during this eventful meeting. He muttered in response to Basil's rhetorical question, "She's not just a force of nature—she's a veritable natural disaster, she is."

Basil chuckled, supremely intrigued by Vegeta and Miss Briefs' relationship, but too smart of a man to question the Duke about it. Instead, Basil grew serious as he turned fully towards Vegeta. "You will keep an eye on her tomorrow? I do not think we need a dead American on our hands or our conscious' at this point."

Vegeta felt something cold clench in his gut at that, but he ignored it as Basil continued, "She really is our only hope."

Vegeta gave a terse nod. "I understand." He looked to Basil, his eyes clear and cold as ice chips when he spoke, "But I do not like it, and I am not in support of this plan."

"Fair enough, Vegeta. But you should understand, better than most, the sacrifices that must be made during a time of crises."

Vegeta's mouth tightened at that, but rather than comment he simply said, "I must be going. I have a sparring match at Jacksons I cannot miss." Vegeta did not even wait for Basil's acknowledgement before he turned and left the park for his fake appointment. He was in such a great amount of turmoil he did not even notice the excited chatter from the other gentry in the park about the rise of follies again….

* * *

><p>As Goku walked Bulma to the front of the house, she smiled at him, conciliatorily. "Really, I am so sorry you had to spend so long chasing after <em>The Heiress<em>, only to see it explode!"

Goku, who was still dripping wet from diving into the Serpentine, only to have the model ship he had just caught up to explode in his face, stared at his sister intently. "Odd how it didn't explode for twenty minutes, but the second I catch up with it, it completely seems to decimate itself."

Bulma refused to meet his eye, and Goku frowned. That was all the proof he needed that all was not as it seemed with his sister. Fortunately for her, he was too soaking wet (diving into the Serpentine after one's sisters 'beloved' model ship tended to do that) to go through the front door, or to care about grilling his sister at that exact moment. So all he said was, "Go work on making another model ship, and this one better be named after me. I'm going to go dry off, then train some with Krillin. I'll see you at dinner." He paused, before he continued, "If you can eat tonight, that is." He looked at her, concerned, "Seriously sis, I don't like the fact that you're working yourself so hard you can't keep food down."

Bulma frowned at him, and shrugged petulantly. "You know I get like this when I'm really stressed."

Goku reached up and tousled her hair like he did when they were little, just to annoy her, stopping when he saw her smile. "Yeah, well you need to stop being so stressed. I can't go to another ton event without you!"

Bulma smiled at that, winked at him, then turned and entered through the front door.

Goku waited until she was inside, before he turned and continued around back of Saiyan Hall, shedding outer layers as he went. Now that he was no longer under the eyes of society, he stripped himself of his soaking outer coat, his vest, undershirt, until he was bare to his waist, his shoes and dripping socks coming off as well. He left his wet clothes drying on some branches (if he did not remember to get them, he was sure someone would), and considered going to find Krillin for a spar like he had told Bulma he would. When his stomach started to growl though, Goku quickly changed track from where Krillin was staying and made his way into the kitchens. They were probably empty now (or as empty as kitchens got between dinner and supper) and he would hopefully be able to find a snack in the larder.

When he entered the kitchens though, he felt a smile spread on his face as he saw Chi-Chi with her back to him, alone, as she hummed, cutting some potatoes it looked like. Goku did not know what it was about Chi-Chi, but he just felt so relaxed around her. Like she really just liked him for who he was, and saw no reason to try and change him. She just made him…happy. Simply happy. Something he had not been in an extremely long time.

Seeing her alone in the kitchen, though, something he had not seen happen since the night of his debut ball, Goku decided to play a joke on her. He quietly snuck up on her, thanking his lucky stars he did not have his shoes on, waiting until he was right behind her to grab her shoulders, screaming, "Hey Chi-Chi!"

Chi-Chi screamed, hands going wide. Just as Goku started to chuckle at a joke well-executed, Chi-Chi surprised him by whirling around, grabbing Goku's wrist with both of her hands. Before he could even process that, Chi-Chi gave a yell, then flipped him over her shoulder in one fluid, smooth movement that belied years of practice with that move. Goku landed on his back with an oomph, the air getting knocked out of him, dazing him as he stared at the ceiling, as Chi-Chi expertly pointed the knife she had been using to cut the potatoes at him threateningly.

Goku was only dazed for a second though, and as he focused back in, he saw Chi-Chi's horrified face as she recognized her 'attacker,' her eyes large, her face pale as she dropped the knife to her side. "Goku! I'm so sorry!"

Goku, more stunned than anything, easily sat up, and then flipped onto his legs so he was standing. He stared at Chi-Chi in wonderment as she nervously wrung her hands, curiosity and amazement fighting within him.

Chi-Chi watched the man she had come to care for as he studied her, feeling so embarrassed at what she had just done—before she noticed that he was currently shirtless and grew distracted from her own embarrassment. It took her a second to process the muscular, wide chest in front of her, but when she did her face blazed instantly, and she turned her back to him. She had never seen a man shirtless before—let alone the man she was fairly certain she was in love with! She quickly tried to cover, her voice shaky as she asked over her shoulder, "What are ye doin' in here with nay clothes on?"

Goku ignored her question, though, staring at her turned profile. When he spoke, it was slowly, as if he were speaking to a child, "Chi-Chi, where did you learn how to fight?"

Chi-Chi froze at that question, before she turned her face so she was staring at anything but him. "Well…uhm…ah…uhm…." She let out a nervous giggle, but before she said anything else, she quickly grabbed her skirts, turned, and fled from the kitchen, as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

Goku just stared at where she had just been standing in amazement, before a slow smile spread on his face.

She could cook, she could fight, and she could make him happy. If that was not the perfect woman, Goku did not know what was.

* * *

><p>AN: Oh, ho! Seems like Chi-Chi might be more than just the Vegetasei chef, no? Wonder what skeletons she has hiding in her closet…

And what's this? Vegeta—scared? Is that what's going on with all of these emotions that he's feeling (we all know how much Vegeta _loves_ emotions)? And what are these sacrifices/plans Vegeta has? Hmmm…

Up next—Bulma on her first spy mission!


	22. A Symphony to Soothe the Nerves

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing.

A/N: I'm back! You guys didn't miss me too much, did you? (Checks reviews, overwhelmed by the outpouring of love you guys have shown, also overwhelmed by guilt—lots of guilt) Ahh! I'm sorry guys! You should know I would never abandon this story—especially with the one-year anniversary coming up! In honor of that, for the next three weeks, leading up to the anniversary on June 29th, I will be posting a spanking brand new chapter!

I really want to thank all of you who checked up on me, especially DamonaVeggie for your pm. I love you all, and the feedback you guys give me is what helps me push through the hard times. But life should settle down a little more now, so hopefully I can get back to publishing more often!

Lilpumpkingirl, you get an extra big heaping of thanks this chapter. I tried to send her some crap, and she (wisely) would not let me publish it as is—I suck at actiony tension stuff, and that is exactly what she helped me with these next few chapters. You seriously get a co-author credit for the first half of this chapter. Much love!

Chapter Twenty-One: A Symphony to Soothe the Nerves

Bulma was not used to the less luxurious side of life, and she had never had the…uhm…privilege of riding in a rented carriage before. It was, well, certainly less than luxurious. Sure, it was probably as top end as the Duke of Vegetasei's title and money could buy (well, rent), but it was not an experience she wanted to relive ever again, after tonight's jaunt. It did not seem that she could avoid the experience tonight though, something she had discovered right after Vegeta had escorted her into the cheap-ish interior.

Bulma surveyed the scuffed non-mahogany (the real mahogany being a signature of the ruling class, a fact she was starting to realize) wood panels, before trailing down to the thinly stuffed tan cushions, which hardly separated her bottom from the wood beneath her, let alone protect her bottom from getting bruised as they were taken through the city. The driver seemingly hit every bump he could, as she was jostled left and right at every other minute. Then…there was the flooring of the carriage. She honestly did not want to know what the last occupants had done as she examined the stains that had miraculously made their way into the deep red carpeting.

Turning her nose up at the sight, she shot Vegeta a displeased pout as he sat across from her (though she would have much rather preferred him next to her…). "Why are we in this rented carriage? Don't you have your own we can use?"

He awarded her with an exasperated sigh before giving a pointed look as he turned his gaze from the window. "A man does not take his _mistress_places in his real carriage, Bulma, unless he is trying to broadcast something. We are not looking to draw attention tonight."

Bulma was distracted from answering him as the scent of the carriage began to assault her nose. The carriage did not smell bad per say—it just smelled…off. Like there were a whole host of unpleasant scents lingering underneath the first layer, but whoever had cleaned the carriage had covered whatever displeasing aromas with an overwhelming cloying bouquet scent of rose-based perfume. _Great, _Bulma thought as she shifted after another blunt sway of the carriage, _I'll probably get a headache from the cheap perfume, and a rash from the fake leather covering the cushions. _Bulma looked back to Vegeta, suppressing the urge she had to cover her nose. "Oh. Well I guess this is not too bad then."

Vegeta's eyebrow rose slightly, but said nothing as he turned to look back out the window, signaling he was done with the idle chitchat. _Wonderful_. Bulma usually tended to babble when she was nervous, but Vegeta seemed less than open to listening to her. His silence was particularly deafening compared the loud noises that were transpiring like a maddening orchestra around them. Starting off this symphony was the steady base of the sharp _click, clack_ of horses' hooves against the uneven brick streets. The light _ching, ching_ of the horses metal and leather bridles offset the _click, clack_ becoming _click, ching, ching, clack…click, ching, ching, clack_. The low murmuring moans of errik, urrk made up the chorus as those stables hooves yanked the protesting carriage along. And then, there was the lead soprano…a certain loose back wheel that joined the show to complete this _brilliant_ masterpiece. Bulma was not certain, but it sounded like the front left wheel also needed a good oiling. Every so-often it would add it's even higher pitched voice to the fray.

Sighing, she fiddled with her dress as the not so silent silence lengthened between her and Vegeta. This orchestra may have been annoying, but it was also rather comforting in a way. Undoubtedly a nice way to distract herself as she listened, discovering how long that rebel front wheel waited before it added it's shrill squeak to the lead's melody—she was clocking it in about ever 3.4 seconds, or every 3 sets of click, ching, ching, clack's.

After a short spell, however, the sound grew bothersome again and Bulma's eyes instead focused in on the cross-shaped crack in the faded leather of the seat Vegeta was currently occupying. The longer there was no talking, the more she found herself unable to blink as she stared at it. Every time she blinked and tried to look away, she found her eyes drawn, again and again to that spot about three inches from his right leg.

Maybe it was a diversionary tactic (thank you subconscious!), but she found her thoughts flitting between what she was about to do, and figuring out what the shape of the crack was as the symphony continued on around her. _I can't believe I'm doing this…am I ready for it? What was I thinking when I said I would do this? This isn't even my country, dammit!… Maybe it's more of a star shape than a cross? It almost looks like someone punctured it with a sharp pen and it's grown out from people picking at it…. There's that damn wheel again. _

She jerked from the cascading thoughts as Vegeta snapped at her suddenly, "Stop itching your head. It's a dead giveaway that you're wearing a wig."

Bulma had not even been aware that she _was_scratching her head until that moment, and she quickly snatched her hand away from the current blonde wig covering her natural locks like a child who had been caught sneaking some candy before dinner. When she realized how she had jumped to Vegeta's command like a servant, she scowled across the dark carriage at him, his dark mood affecting her. "I am not a child. You do not need to speak to me as such."

Vegeta's timbre was deep when he spoke, his voice in the shadows as they passed out of the glow of one street lamp before reaching the next. "If you would stop itching your head like a child who's playing dress up, maybe I wouldn't have to speak to you like a child."

Bulma's scowl deepened, and she had to stop herself from sticking her tongue out at him in exactly the childish manner she was trying to deny. Had she truly been expecting him to get over the piss-poor mood he had been in since Bulma had made him realize that she was the one Basil was asking to go on the mission, not him? His anger seemed to be all directed at her, and frankly, she was tired of it. She needed him now, to help her get through this—but no. He had not stopped glaring at her since that eventful meeting at the Hyde, and it seemed that this treatment was all she was going to get from him right now.

She never knew which Vegeta to expect anymore! He was so damned mercurial! Over these past few days, she was having a real hard time keeping up with his moods—he was angry, he was concerned, he was caring, he was a stand-offish jerk again, he was caring, he was back to angry! She had no clue as to where she stood with him, and she was growing tired of it.

Which would explain why she was defiant when she answered him, "Maybe if the wig wasn't so cheap, I wouldn't have to keep itching my head."

"Maybe if you had bought the wig yourself," Vegeta intoned right back with a healthy dose of sarcasm, the unpleased look on his face clear as they passed under a street lamp, "Instead of asking a working class government official to do so, you would have ended up with a better wig."

Bulma tried to think of another quick retort, but, being a bundled mass of nerves, she only continued to itch her head as she glared across the carriage to Vegeta. Finally deciding to give into her earlier urge, she found immense pleasure in sticking her tongue out at him. Vegeta's frown grew deeper, but he said nothing, his glare forcing her eyes back to the star shaped crack in the leather, as she realized that she was not acting like a grown woman, let alone a grown woman who was about to carry off an intense spy mission would.

Bulma furtively put her hands back in her lap when she found some relief from the painful (well, not painful—more like irritating) itchiness of the hot wig that was currently on her head. Continuing to wonder what kind of weapon had punctured the leather to get the crack shaped like that, she counted the seconds between squeaks of the carriage, wondering if it had changed over the duration of the trip.

As they left the more upscale part of London where Saiyan Hall was, the sounds of the city seemed to grow louder, more rambunctious and boisterous. Even to the point that it overshadowed the carriages natural symphony. Something that only demonstrated how deadly silent it was in between the two occupants the carriage contained within. This silence between them was stifling, but for once, Bulma could think of nothing to say to Vegeta. She was too distracted by her own thoughts, by the changing sounds of the city, the squeaking of that damn wheel with that maddening orchestra and the cracks in the leather. Oh, and also about where this carriage was taking her. What _that_meant. And all that could go wrong with what they were about to do. Bulma was not sure about Vegeta, but she had never been so nervous in her damn life.

It was her first real spy mission. Never in her life had she been as anxious as she was now. Worrying about how this night would end. Would she be a hero? Or… well, she did not really want to think about what opposite of hero meant for her. She had been all bravado yesterday in the park, or any other time Vegeta questioned her ability to be a spy, but right now…Bulma was not afraid to admit that the daunting task ahead of her was making her itchy all over (though that could have been the cheap wig and costume…).

As she felt her head began to itch again, Bulma tried to occupy her hands by instead plucking at a thread hanging off the end of her pink gown. It was another experience she was trying to get used to. She had never really experienced cheap material before seeing as her money had always been enough to buy her the very finest in life. Here she was now, though, wanting to cover herself with her hands and pull on the hardly covering material that exposed more skin than it hid.

The costumes had been sent to Bulma by the war offices the night before, and she had frowned the second she had seen them. The war offices might need a secret endowment specifically for costumes Bulma found herself musing now. What she was wearing was so not up to her standards. When she had seen how very cut-rate the material was she had nearly given up all hope of accomplishing this mission successfully. She shook her head wondering about how many covers had been blown because of the war offices cheap costuming. How were people supposed to play the part of the upper crust when any real elitist could smell out the low-grade material the spy's clothes were made out of? Yup, she definitely needed to add that to her list of things to talk to Basil about. That was if she made it through this night, of course.

Well at least the gown, however cheaply made, did the trick—it made her look like a woman who would have no gumption about being a mistress. It was a rich, rose gown—a color she would never wear with her natural coloring, but fit with the blonde wig that was currently causing the top of her head to prickle uncomfortably. With its square neckline, it dipped low, paired together with the 'push-up' corset, her breasts were confined and pushed so they were practically bubbling over the top of the gown, making her breasts look like they were two ripe melons, served on a platter for any male who deemed to look at them.

Not only that, but the gown gathered at one hip, revealing the thin shift underneath that did not allow for petticoats. She could very clearly see the outline of her naked leg underneath the shift, and she was sure everyone else could too. In fact, she was starting to think that was the point of the dress…. But still, it was making her self-conscious about how to sit in it. If they were in public for long, she was not going to try, she decided. It would be a dead giveaway that she was not a loosely principled woman if she was tugging at her dress every few seconds, trying to cover up her exposed leg….

Though, as she observed herself, she had to admit the outfit (while cheap) also worked on her in her general. Not for the first time she was glad to have been born with such a figure—something about her body screamed 'mistress.' Sussed up like she currently was, Bulma had to admit she looked every bit the kind of woman the Duke of Vegetasei would want as his lover (Bulma did not let herself think of the irony of that thought…). And while she did not look like a dockside whore, she certainly did not look like a lady either, that was for certain. Bulma was not entirely sure what a courtesan looked like (it was considered highly improper for women to know what mistresses were, let alone what they looked like), but she had to admit she probably fit the bill well. Something about the dress just oozed sensuality on her.

With that furtive thought, Bulma snuck a look up to the man she was sharing the carriage with from under her lashes. Surely he had noticed how the gown looked on her. She found herself watching him something through the ride, her eyes sneaking up from that crack, curious if he would chance a glance at her exposed cleavage, or to the way the dress hugged her curves. Whenever she looked at him, however, his attention was either back out the window or on the ceiling. Even now as his face came into the light of another passing street lamp, she saw that he had his eyes closed as he leaned his head back against the carriage wall.

She sighed, turning to look out her own window. She did not know what she should really expect from a man like him, but so far, Vegeta's only comments about her outfit had been when he had come to collect her earlier that night. _"Good. You look like a mistress. Come, the hallways are clear and we need to get moving."_

Bulma flicked her eyes sideways, frowning at the 'sleeping' man as she all too well remembered that comment. Her excitement at pulling off this mission with him at her side had started dissipating quickly after it. What was wrong with him? No words of encouragement to an obviously scared Bulma? No teasing to get her mind off of things? Not even one salacious comment about how she looked?

Maybe it was not a good idea for him to be here with her right now. She was already a bundle of nerves because of the mission—but for Vegeta to be there, to be a part of it? It made it a thousand times worse. What had she been thinking, agreeing to him coming with her? She could have found another way up to those rooms, or found a male who was not as distracting on her thoughts as him, making her lose focus on what she had to accomplish tonight. If her feelings and emotions had been out of control the first time she had slept with Vegeta, now they were a complete tornado. It did not help that he was treating her as he was…

Last time they had had sex, Bulma made a defensive strike before Vegeta could, icing him out, playing indifferent (quite well). But she had thought after the library… After the way he had held her, made love to her, that things were changing between them for the better. She was too naïve to know what the change was, yet too realistic to think that it meant marriage…but she had thought that there was some sort of agreement between them. But yesterday at the park things had changed between them yet again—he was being the Dark Duke she had first met, not the man she had discovered under the hard exterior.

Here she was, all trussed up, and the best he could do was, _You look like a mistress?__  
><em>

She had thought she would get some sort of reaction out of him, closer to lust perhaps! Or maybe…and this was not something she wanted to dwell on long…but maybe now that he had slept with her twice…he was done with her? The thrill of the chase was gone, and so he no longer wanted her?

Had she really misread how much he desired her though? She was rather new to this whole making love thing when it came down to it….As far as she knew this was the normal way of things. She doubted it. Every time she let Vegeta touch her, kiss her, make love to her—she wanted more of him. Her need of him did not go away, instead she found that it was growing with each encounter. She refused to believe that for Vegeta things could be any different. But…

But she had known from the beginning that getting into any sort of relationship with Sir Dark-and-Broody was going to be complicated. So should she really be surprised that she was now so confused? Is that not why she had stayed away from him, tried to put distance between them from those first electric moments back in America? She had thought that she was too smart to get involved with a man as complicated as he was…and yet here she was. Was it really a surprise that Dark-and-Broody was sticking with being Dark-and-Broody? Better yet, had she seriously given into the simple-minded fantasy that _she _could be the one that would change him? Rattled his world so much that he would promptly drop to one knee and swear his life to her and no one else? She had known from the beginning that he was a closed-off man, callous and intimidating at most times. So who was really to blame for her current incredibly confusing feelings?

Bulma sighed, frowning as she rested her cheek on her hand, propped up on her knee. She watched the changing scenery for a few seconds before she remembered the amount of makeup she had on. Cursing softly, she pulled her hand away from her face. When she saw that some of the darker skin-colored makeup she was wearing to make herself look different had rubbed off she was momentarily distracted as she rubbed her fingers together, remembering when she had first met Viridian. _He said he had a skin condition…_

But the thoughts about him were fleeting as Bulma found herself being jostled more than usual. Sighing again, she fiddled through her small handbag and pulled out the make-up container, reapplying first the skin-colored make-up, and then reapplying the red rouge on her cheeks and lips, trying to transform the pale young woman that was into someone other than herself. Bulma's hands were perfunctory and quick in the rocking carriage, but as she put the make-up away, she lost herself to her thoughts again with the changing London scenery again.

Bulma had never played at being another woman before, let alone an older one and she was damn scared about doing it. She was only really used to pretending to be a boy, and only in the small town outside of Manhattan. Never had she been in a disguise in a huge city before, and never with the purpose of breaking in somewhere that was not already owned by Capsule Corp. In the past, if she had gotten caught (which she never had), she would have been able to pull the whole 'I'm the bosses daughter,' card. Now…. She did not let herself think about it too long, knowing she could pull off the cockney accent of the Irish lower classes with the best of them, as linguistics had always been something she excelled at. At least she thought she was pretty damn good. She was, wasn't she?

Her eyes traveled back to Vegeta, hoping he was awake enough to see that she needed him to speak to her, to tell her something—but no. Nothing. Her eyes instead traveled back to the same crack she had been studying since she had entered the carriage, frowning at it. If she tilted her head just so—it looked more like a profile of a face. _What an odd little crack…._

The carriage swayed to a stop, and Bulma's head rose, her eyes wide as she took in the well lit and extremely opulent hotel they had stopped in front of. Basil was not kidding when he said the Ginyu Force probably had the Opera House and Frieza to bankroll their stay—this place was the height of modernity, and richness. Marble and clean brick front, Roman columns, hundreds of twinkling gas lamps— Bulma knew rich, and this was a shining beacon of an example.

The butterflies in her stomach decided now was the perfect time to start up again, as they got closer and closer to the front of the hotel itself, their carriage next in line to be received. Bulma took a deep breath, closing her eyes as they swayed forward more slowly than before and she forced herself to settle down, to remember everything she needed to do. She could do this! She was strong. A genius. And a beautiful woman. Nothing could stand in the way of her success tonight…_except for me_. _Or scary men with weapons._Okay, maybe this was not the most helpful line of thinking.

She opened her eyes as the carriage moved forward, taking them to the front of the line in front of the hotel, and she opened her eyes, unconsciously seeking out Vegeta's eyes with her own. Vegeta met her gaze, his dark eyes ubiquitous, and the stern look on his face as he opened his mouth. Bulma leaned closer, ready for whatever wisdom he wanted to impart, no matter how harsh it was, but she was sorely disappointed when he simply snapped at her. "Stop itching."

Bulma, who was not even aware that her hand was in her hair, snatched it away, frowning at the hand as if it was not her own. She looked up as she heard him sigh, and she flushed as he reached over, adjusting the wig. Bulma took a weak moment to close her eyes, relishing the feel of his hands on her, trying to breathe in that masculine scent that was all Vegeta (simply to calm her nerves, she told herself), but it was over too quickly, his hands pulled away from her, and she snapped her eyes back open before she did something really foolish like reach for him.

With the opening of her eyes, she saw Vegeta watching her carefully. "Bulma, you need to…."

Bulma leaned forward, ready (again) to be enlightened by some wisdom, but found herself frowning as he just said, "…stop acting like you have no clue what you're doing. I need you to act like a mistress as we go on—chest out, head held high, and do not make eye contact with a single human being."

Bulma leant back in her seat, almost pouting, waiting for more advice but nope. Nothing. Vegeta only gave her a nod before exiting the carriage without waiting for her. Bulma sighed as she gave her head one last itch, and then she exited the cab, trying to act as if she owned the world a she placed her hand of the footman, who helped her reach the flawless marbled walkway without a hitch, with admiration in her eyes. She hardly noticed him, only painfully noticing how it had not been Vegeta helping her out of the carriage, or looking at her like that.

She was starting think he would be the one to hold up his end of the mission as they entered the foyer of the hotel seeing as the short walk to the doors he had been a few steps ahead, unnoticing of her. But she was startled when Vegeta wrapped his arm around her, surprising her further as he pulled her close. Bulma stiffened instantly, and Vegeta gave her a swift look as they continued walking on the plush red carpet, muttering out of the side of his mouth, "Pull it together. You're my mistress—not some virgin of the cloth."

Bulma frowned inwardly, _Not like you cared when I was a virgin_, but she gave him a salacious look back, all fluttering eyelashes, as she wrapped her hand with his as he held her waist, simpering up at him like a woman who wanted to be alone with him.

She tried to observe her surrounding surreptitiously, really she did, but trying to act like a woman in lust at the same time while trying not to look she was spying was more difficult than it looked, and so her only real impression of the place was that it was richly furnished—all red carpets, luxurious couches, and golden gilded edges everywhere. As they reached the hotel clerk, he gave them a polite look of interest, though Bulma caught his eyes wandering to where her breasts were currently on display before Vegeta let out a possessive growl, "We need a suite."

The man was a sycophant and it showed when he spoke, "Of course—we have some lovely rooms available."

Vegeta slashed his hand at the man impatiently. "I said I need a suite—I need the best quality, and I want one of your penthouses at the top of the hotel. And I want it now."

The man paled visibly, "I am sorry sir, but the penthouse space is all taken up."

Vegeta menacingly leaned forward, pulling Bulma with him as he had yet to let go of her. "You listen here you simple-minded plebian. I am the Duke of Vegetasei, and I require a penthouse suite." Upon hearing Vegeta's title, the man paled further (Bulma seriously was concerned for his health with such a pale valor), but Vegeta was not done threatening yet, blood-less hotel clerk be damned. "If I do not receive the accommodations I so desire, I will make it known to the gentry how the Regency is not _the_…accommodating place for men who are looking for a place to entertain females."

Bulma, sensing her cue, gave an idiotic giggle, turning into Vegeta, biting her lip as she looked over her shoulder, giving the man a hooded look. This is how a mistress would act, right?

It must have been—because combined with Vegeta's threats, the man started to back away, stumbling as he spoke, "Of course, your Grace. L-Let me just c-check with my manager!"

Not a second after the man disappeared he re-appeared with an older man in a better suit (obviously the manager), who was holding a key towards them without asking any questions. "This is our best available penthouse, your Grace. I am sorry for the confusion—please let me know if there is anything else you require."

Vegeta snatched the key from the man's eager hand (that Bulma noticed was shaking slight) as he growled, "I want our bags delivered to our room, and then I want absolutely privacy on the floor for the rest of the night. If I even hear a member of your staff walking the hallway, I will leave and let everyone know about this disservice to a Duke."

The manager kept a stoic face, only bowing, impressing Bulma with his professionalism, "Of course your Grace. I would expect nothing less. The bags will be brought up immediately and the room is on us tonight."

Vegeta gave him one last glare, "As it should be after such insolence," before looking down at Bulma, surprising her with a soft look, "Come on, my dove."

Bulma lost her footing at the unexpected (and wholly unnatural) endearment, and Vegeta's arm tightened on her waist, holding her up. He leaned close, nuzzling her neck, but spoke to her in an angry whisper, "Pull it together. We haven't even gotten to the hard part yet."

Bulma let out a nervous titter that fortunately worked for her persona and Vegeta held her closer to him. Vegeta did not let go as they entered the 'vanishing room' and Bulma had to hold on to her inner scientist as they got into the new invention. It was a room that literally moved up and down using a system of weights and pulleys, and she had never been in one before. She would love to do nothing more than to drill the man who was operating the new room, but she resisted the urge and instead leaned into Vegeta as he continued to nuzzle her neck, sucking lightly at the junction there. It further served to distract her completely from everything but the sensation of his mouth on her skin.

She would like to think that this more amorous Vegeta was due to him finally looking at her, and how amazing she looked in this outfit, but she knew it was for the benefit of the man operating the vanishing room, who was standing stock still with his back to them. He did not fool Bulma though—she could almost see his ears straining at the soft sighs and giggles she was giving, the sounds of Vegeta sucking on her neck, but Bulma did not care. She let herself give into the sensation of him touching her again, and closed her eyes, moaning slightly as he nipped at her sensitive skin.

Too soon, they had reached the top of the hotel, and the doors slid open. Vegeta surprised her by growling, and picking her up and striding out of the vanishing room down the hallway, as if he just could not wait to get her. Bulma blushed, but held on to him, giving into the fantasy, for just a few moments as he went all dominant male on her, giving another in-character giggle as she waved at the vanishing room operator, who was staring after them with open interest.

They reached their door quickly, and Vegeta somehow managed to hold onto her as he swung it open, acting very much like a man who wanted to be buried inside of his mistress without any more delay. Instead, the second they were inside, Vegeta took two steps in the direction of the closest couch and deposited her very ungracefully onto it.

Bulma let out an _oomph_as Vegeta strode around the room, checking the two rooms connected to the living room, striding in and out of view as she tried to focus again and calm her twitching nerves, taking stock of the room—it was nice. If she was the kind of rich person who wanted to let everyone know how rich she was (which she was not), this would be the place to stay. The couch she had been deposited on was soft, and all around the room was that gleaming mahogany, pristine white clothes, and golden curios meant to represent wealth and splendor.

As Vegeta strode back in from his thorough sweep of the suite, he nodded at her; all authoritative as he jerked his thumb back to the room he had just exited. "It's clear. You can change in there."

Bulma gave him a nod, swallowing hard, lacing her fingers together and having a hard time meeting his eyes. When she thought about it, it was not that surprising—this was the first time her and Vegeta had truly been alone—not on a ship, where other men were working, or even in the garden at the party, or in a library room where they could have been discovered at any moment. It was just Bulma and Vegeta here. Something that made her… anxious. Anxious for all the wrong reasons, considering what she was about to do…put her life on the line for a piece of paper with some information on it.

Vegeta, who was walking around this room, lifting things up and down, frowned at her when he saw her standing still. "Well get going. You need to be ready to change as soon as possible."

Bulma shook her head, and looked at him, wishing she had a snarky retort at her ready, but found herself blanking, and so she simply walked to the room as directed and took a deep swallow as she unlaced her fingers, wishing she had never agreed to do this….

* * *

><p>Bulma was putting the finishing touches on her newest outfit, that of a maid, when she heard a knock on the door of the bedroom she was currently in and Vegeta's voice sounding from the other side, "Bulma, you need to hurry. We do not know how much time we will really have, and we need to make sure you do not waste any."<p>

Bulma frowned at the door, and the extremely _useful_ advice (thank you Captain Obvious!) before gazing into the looking glass one last time. The outfit matched those of the maids who worked here perfectly, muted clothes, and unflattering, scratchy linen. Underneath it, she was wearing on some extra stomach and hip padding, giving her the look of a heavier woman. Wiped from her face was the heavy make-up and skin-tinting shade. She was back to her pale self, though she had dotted some red freckled along the bridge of her nose and cheeks. To top it off was another scratchy wig, a light red this time, curled in ringlets, to make her look like an Irish immigrant who worked in the hotel, trying to earn a living.

Bulma nodded, satisfied at the result of her hard work, then left the room, affecting a stoop, her head bowed low, as if she was indeed used to being a servant, not some rich heiress. As she walked to the main room, Bulma went through in her mind what she knew about the Ginyu Force. _Killers for hire in Russia, cold-blood, but more show-boaty than most Russians. _What am I looking for?_ A list…of names, they presume, but maybe something more? _And what exactly was at stake? _Oh, only my life…and the lives of the British crown's most elite spied…Am I missing anything else? _Swallowing, she fought to keep the rising anxiety that was currently threatening to choke her from overcoming her senses completely.

It was almost mechanical as she thought about what she knew about these men and their dealings and she grew focused as she thought about everything she needed to be aware of for tonight. Bulma paused on the threshold of the sitting room, and forced herself to take a deep breath. _I can could do this! I know I can do this! It is showtime, Bulma._

Bulma entered the sitting room, and then froze when she saw Vegeta sitting there in nothing but a silk black robe as he calmly sat sipping from a crystal cut tumbler. Her voice, which was supposed to be that of a lower class, Irish woman, came out scratchy, strangled and panicked as she looked at him, "Where the hell are you clothes?"

Vegeta frowned at her as if she were the odd one in this situation. "I'm supposed to be here with my highly desirable mistress. I could hardly answer the door when the bellhop brought your luggage up still fully dressed if we wanted to stay in character."

Bulma resisted the urge she had to blush as she noticed the robe stopped above Vegeta's knee, and instead took another deep swallow as she moved over the threshold, her eyes alighting on the sideboard in the corner of the room. "Of course. Makes sense. How do I look?"

He surveyed her as she gave an unnecessary twirl only to give her a clinical, detached nod, "You look exactly like a maid here."

She gave him a nervous smile at his flat answer, trying to lighten the mood as she made her way over to where the suddenly appetizing alcohol was. "I've also just gotten a look into my future if I don't stop eating so many of Günter's ices…."

Vegeta frowned at her failed attempt at humor, and Bulma wilted under his stare, "Now is not the time for joking."

Bulma resisted the urge she had to stick her tongue out at him, and she swallowed hard, turning to the sideboard and pouring herself a few fingers of whatever the brown liquid was that Vegeta was drinking. She threw in an ice cube or two, pretending to know what she was doing, though she clutched the glass, knuckles white as she turned back to him. "I know…I'm just nervous. I tend to chatter when I'm nervous."

Vegeta's mouth was a flat line as he stood, walking closer to her. "You seem to chatter no matter what your emotion is." He heaved a heavy sigh, refilling his own glass as he moved past her, the rustle of silk against his naked skin distracting her, before he spoke, bringing her back to the present, "You have the lock-picking kit I sent to you earlier?"

Bulma shook her head, shrugging at the dark look on his face as she raised the glass to her lips, as if she drank this stuff every day. "Don't need it. I have my trusty bobby-pins." Bulma took a small sip, and fought the urge she had to splutter as the alcohol burned a path down her throat, overwhelming her and her already overwhelmed senses. She unfortunately could not stop the look on her face or how red she turned, but Bulma hardly cared as she eyed the innocent enough seeming amber liquid in her crystal cut glass. _Just what in the hell was he drinking? _

Vegeta smirked at her attempts to regain her suave demeanor, though he crossed his arms when she raised the glass to her lips again, taking a fake sip. He glowered at her over his drink as he took a much bigger slug of his own and wiped his mouth with the back of hand. "You're saying your hair clips work better than what His Majesty's secret service has said is the official tool of the English spy?"

Bulma gave him a weak smile (the best she could muster at this moment), holding the glass down low as she took a few steps away from Vegeta, as his natural scent began to waft over her, interfering with her trying to regain her composure. She waited until there were at least a few steps between them, before taking another fake sip and giving him an arch look (one she had stolen from him). "Vegeta, trust me on this one. I've broken into more rooms and through more doors then you can possibly imagine."

"I'll have to take your word on that…." His eyes locked with hers again as he moved a step towards her, "Okay Bulma, tell me what you know about this floor?"

Bulma looked at him, flabbergasted by the question. She started to roll the textured glass between her hands as she tried to think of what she knew about this floor, feeling the points biting into her flesh. She knew absolutely nothing about this floor—the only thing she did know was that Vegeta not only smelled wonderful, he looked good enough to eat—and that she needed to stop these lascivious thoughts before they got worse. "Uhm…well. There are rooms on this floor besides our own."

Vegeta took another sip from his glass before shaking his head, putting it down and moving closer to her as he spoke, gesturing with his hands, "There are only four rooms on this floor, including this one…."

He trailed off, waiting for Bulma to say more, but she only blinked, dumbfounded. "There is?"

Vegeta's tone was that of someone scolding a child as he put his hands on her shoulders turning her to face him fully. Bulma forced herself not to react to the heat of his palms on her, as he used his hand to point in different directions past her head, "There are two rooms on that side." He pointed in front of them, counting off, one, two, before he pointed next to them, "And there is one there." He dropped his hands, and she turned back to him praying she did not break the glass she was grasping so hard in her hands. Whether or not he did notice her claw like grip on the glass though remained to be seen as he frowned at her. "Bulma, what did you observe as we got off the elevator? Since we've been in this hotel?"

Bulma tried to piece an answer together, but truth be told she had been too distracted by having actual physical contact from Vegeta to observe much of anything. "Uhm…."

Vegeta frown deepened before he began rattling off, "In the lobby, there was exactly seven other people loitering about besides us and the desk clerk. Two of them were hotel employees, two of them were lover's looking for a place to have a tryst, while the last three were foreign diplomats or businessmen. You were noticed by every male in the lobby, and by the man who was operating the elevator. The elevator took about a minute to pass each floor, with a grand total time of seven minutes to the top, where we are now."

Vegeta took a breath, starting to pace as he continued, "As we got off the elevator, we passed two doors immediately off to the right—one would be the stairs that people used to have to take to get up here, while the other one is where they keep the extra linens for this floor. You can tell by how close those doors are—not enough room for the penthouse suites that take up this floor."

Bulma watched him, feeling her head start to spin from the information and his movement, but she kept listening as Vegeta continued pacing, gesticulating and more animated than she had ever seen him before. "There are three doors besides our own, all of them leading to suites as big as, if not bigger than, the very suite we occupy. We have no way of knowing which room the list will be in, or in fact, which rooms the Ginyu Force are in and so we need to take advantage of the time we have. As far as we know, it's all of them and you will need to search each room thoroughly."

Bulma, hearing Vegeta speak so authoritatively, had to keep her mouth from dropping open. She had no idea that he could be like this—so in charge, so directed, so obviously in the zone. What was it about him speaking so coldly and ruthlessly about all that he had observed that had her so…so turned on?

Bad Bulma, bad!

It must be an odd mixture of her hormones and the adrenaline. Seriously—not helpful right now to be fantasizing about him commanding her in the bedroom. Why the hell did that get her skin tingling? _Argh—stop it Bulma! Get your head out of the clouds!__  
><em>

Bulma took another furtive sip of her drink, trying to force her face to stay neutral as the warming liquid slipped down her esophagus, before turning her attention back to Vegeta, who was still speaking. She blushed as she caught his eye, realizing that he had stopped pacing and that Vegeta was staring at her, waiting for an answer to a question she did not remember hearing. She gave another very unhelpful, "Uhm…" before resuming the twirling of the glass between her palms.

Vegeta sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before he moved closer to her, grabbing her upper arms with his hands. "Bulma—you need to pay attention and take this seriously! You need to get going on these searches as quickly as possible! The show started five minutes ago, which might give us about three good hours of searching. We don't want to be here too close to the end of the show as that is when the Ginyu Force have send people, whether it be the women they want to bed, or the employees they have for preparing their rooms for them, will be on their way here."

Bulma was once again amazed (and riveted) by this authoritative Vegeta but she forced herself to stop swooning over every little thing Vegeta did, and get back into the right mindset of being a spy. It was all a chemical reaction, she told herself rationally. Her nerves were on edge because of what she was about to do, and because of this she was hypersensitive to everything around her. Including Vegeta—who she was always, always hypersensitive around. The blood racing through her veins had less to do with Vegeta himself, and more to do with the mix of chemicals that were rushing through her system. She forced herself to nod confidently. "Of course. Thank you for your advice, but I think you're right. I need to get going."

Vegeta looked as if he was going to question her, but he said nothing, letting her go, taking the glass she was clutching out of her hands and placing it on the side table next to him. Bulma idly realized he had put nothing underneath it, and that it was sure to leave a ring on the mahogany, but she said nothing as Vegeta turned back to her, his face set. He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out something, handing it to her. Bulma held it up to her face, examining the heavy object, and saw that it looked like an overly large key. She stared stupidly at it, before she frowned as she looked up at him, "What's this? A skeleton key?"

Vegeta shook his head and took the key back from her outstretched hands, and moved a couple of hidden joints, transforming the key as he turned it so it was upside down, aiming. "This, Bulma, is a key _gun_. It only has one tiny shot in it, and I don't recommend using it unless someone who does not believe your cover story catches you. You only get one shot—don't waste it." At seeing Bulma's nervous gulp, he sighed, "I suggest you aim for their eye. It's one of the softest parts of the human body, and with a shot this small, it is one of the only places this thing will inflict real damage on."

Bulma felt herself grow queasy as she imagined shooting someone in the eye, but she gave another strong nod as she took it from him, making it a key again and studying it shortly, opening and closing it one more time, before putting it in the pocket of her maid dress.

Vegeta gave her a searching look, but did not comment on her waning pallor, instead softly asking, "What is the plan Bulma?"

Bulma forced herself to answer clinically as she ticked off the plan, looking him in the eye, her hands clamped at her sides, in the pockets. "I leave this room, go to the next one, and start searching it. Repeat until I find the list."

"No." Bulma felt like she had been punched in the gut by his soft negative, and he gave her a sharp look as she met his look with wounded eyes. "Think Bulma. If someone saw us enter the room together, they will be instantly suspicious of whoever leaves this room. I need you to walk to the linen closet at the end of the hall, get me some extra towels, or something, and then bring them back here. It's not much, but it might be enough to throw off whoever is watching me. They might think you were already in here, or that I called you up here to get me extra linens. After you bring them back, then you go back to the linen closet until you are sure no one else is in the hallway. Then you may begin your search."

Bulma frowned, muttering to no one in particular, "That seems like a lot."

Vegeta surprised her by grabbing her upper arms, giving her a soft shake, startling her with the ferocity of emotion behind his answer, especially after the cold way he had been speaking to her. "It might seem like a lot, but these little things are what make the difference between life and death, Bulma! You have to trust me on this!"

Bulma looked at him. Was it her imagination, or was there a hint of desperation in his voice at the end there? Maybe she was misreading him—he was being standoffish tonight, but there was no mistaking the concern behind his tone just now. He was worried…for her? For whether or not his name would be on the list? It did not seem to matter at that moment to Bulma. It gave her the courage she needed to nod, stand up straighter, and to meet his eye, completely serious, feeling in the zone. "Okay. I'll do exactly what you say."

Vegeta seemed to relax at those words, giving a sigh as he let go of her. "Good." Bulma moved to get past him, but Vegeta surprised her again by stepping in front of her, blocking her path to the door. His hand came up to reach for her wig, twirling one of the fiery ringlets around his fingers, watching it as he let go and it bounced away. Bulma's breath hitched, and she wished he would touch her—really touch her. Or better yet, kiss her.

When his eyes met her own again there was a flash in his eyes Bulma could not have missed even if she wanted to as he softly spoke to her. "Bulma, you are an incredibly smart woman. I know that you can do this. You need to be observant though—look for latches or for things sewn into pockets and hems, or anything that is out of place. It comes down to you and your instincts now. You need to trust them."

Bulma blinked at the passion in Vegeta's voice, and she felt herself melt. Maybe he truly did care for her…he must if he was acting like this. "Okay." She waited a beat than added, softly, "Thank you."

Vegeta slashed his hand, batting her thanks away as if it were a physical object as he stepped away from her. "I am only speaking the truth Bulma, not trying to flatter you." Bulma felt herself deflate at that a little, but she only gave him another nod.

As Bulma walked past him to the front door, Bulma forced herself to repeat the plan over and over, reaching for the door handle. As she grasped it, she heard Vegeta say her name softly. She glanced over her shoulder and she saw Vegeta giving her an unreadable look that threatened to throw her even further into confusion, his black eyes smoldering.

The way his lips twitched up into a small smile, though, was unmistakable, "Good luck Miss Briefs. I know you can do this."

Bulma, feeling buoyed by the two compliments he had just paid her, gave a mock salute, opened the door, took a deep breath, and answered in the horrible accent she had been perfecting for her whole life, "O' course yer Grace," bobbing a curtsey for good measure.

* * *

><p>Zhelonie had not expected to be at the Opera, again, tonight, so soon after his last visit, but he was, and he was going to make the best of it.<p>

Which meant that he was going to visit those stupid actors who Frieza kept around because they "amused him." With their stupid dancing and foolish antics no doubt. Zhelonie frowned distastefully as he thought about their over-posturing, shaking his head—they were idiots, plain and simple, who delighted in their acting more than spy work. Which, frankly, was quite shoddy on both counts.

No wonder Frieza had delegated them to the role of playing mailman. It was fitting almost—forced to shuttle between the real spies, as they paraded on the stage, pretending to be real men.

But before he trounced backstage, he would have to do what he came here to do in the first place.

Zhelonie turned back to the elderly countess, who had brought him here tonight making sure his face was serene, his voice seductive as he spoke to her, "Simply breathtaking, don't you think?"

The older woman, one of the many that Zhelonie had under his thumb (it was amazing what good looks and charms did to a woman's sensibilities) blushed at him, "Not as much so as you, good sir."

Zhelonie smirked, grabbing her hand, bringing it to his lips, "You flatter me so, countess."

She tittered, and Zhelonie moved closer to her, pressing his nose into her flesh, calling on all of his acting abilities to make himself appear into her as he kissed her, careful as he pressed his lips to her papery skin. He pulled back when he felt her pulse quicken, giving her a look. "I am sorry we are not somewhere more private, though…. I have heard your husband might come with the king tonight and would hate for him to see us."

The woman pouted her lips out, shaking her head, "Hardly. Reginald spends so much time with the King he does not have time for me."

Zhelonie put a hand over his heart, "Reginald's oversight is my fortune than." He caressed his fingers over her dainty hand, speaking as if it was almost an afterthought, "Though I have heard that Reginald might not spend so much time at the King's side these coming days."

This stopped the countess cold, even as Zhelonie pressed calculated kisses into her palm. Her voice hitched, "What?"

Zhelonie smirked, though she could not see it, instead affecting a startled look as he looked at her waning pallor. "Oh nothing. I have just heard…well, I have heard that the King feels that Reginald is trying to gain too much power currently, and wants to take away his title as advisor… though these are just silly rumors."

The woman sucked in a deep breath, her nose flaring. She might seem like a fool, but even she knew how much her current over-indulgent lifestyle relied upon Reginald's continued good favor with the King. She was currently invited everywhere only because of her husband's advisor title, and she was not ready to give that up. Zhelonie could practically see the gears in her head turning, as she pulled her hand out of his, looking past him. "Do forgive me—I suddenly feel a headache coming on."

Zhelonie gave her a sad smile, "Of course my dear."

Before he could process it, she was gone, presumingly to talk to her husband about the rumor Zhelonie had heard (and made up completely), throwing Reginald into a panic about where he stood with the king. His panic would cause him to turn jealous towards those he perceived as getting more favor from the King, and would cause Reginald to do some very stupid things, that would cause him to lose his own favor, and in turn to cause mistrust and hatred between the ranks of those around the Crown.

He chuckled as he leaned back in his seat, thinking back to when he had laid out this part of the plan to Frieza, who had been skeptical to say the least as Zhelonie had explained it to him, "You and I both know open warfare will not win us the British crown—we have tried that before, and have had minimal success, especially with their outstanding Navy. But more incendiary tactics, Tsesarevich, that break the monarchy up from the inside out—that is where our real chance lies. Give me some time to show you this—and if it fails, we resort to your usual brutal, yet graceful, style."

Frieza had smirked, but had cupped Zhelonie's chin, hard as he had replied back. "You get two months, Zhelonie. If I see no results—you will go down with the British King."

Zhelonie had only smiled, much as he was doing now, before he sighed, getting up. Knowing it was time to pay those over-pompous fools a visit. Well maybe he could have some fun with them as he demanded the list he knew they were hiding back at their suites.

* * *

><p>AN: Subterfuge! You gotta love it…it always seems to work on susceptible, horny, older people, does it not? Also, what is Vegeta's deal? What's he got stuck up his arse this chapter? Hmm…I wonder…

Two last things- I would love it, for those of your who have not already read/reviewed it, to check out my one-shot 'Distraction,' that I wrote spur of the moment earlier this week. I have not written a one-shot since I started Dark Duke, and it honestly helped me push these next few chapters out. I'm always looking for inspiration, and sometimes you find it in the oddest places.

Also! Please check out ~CrimsonGriffin's fanart on deviant they did for this story. It. Is. Amazing. Okay, much love to you all and see you next chapter (next week!). favourites/#/d50imwg


	23. Bulma the Spy

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing. More cussing than usual. (How is that possible?)

A/N: Here is the promised update, on time and everything! Big pat on my back, as well as Lilpumpkingirl, who beta's better than the best of 'em—and keeps up with my crazy self-imposed schedule—thank you!

To all of my readers, reviewers, lurkers—I love you all. Your feedback, criticism, critiques, comments and encouragement mean all the world to me and I'm sorry if I have not taken the time to sit down and respond to every single one of you to say thank you. Just know how much your kind words mean to me and I love to see what you guys think of where this story is going next, and want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Bulma the Spy

Goku had only been in London for a few months, but he was certain of a few things.

One, he missed America and his old life. Here, he did not have the freedom he had there—he could not go out with Bulma at two in the morning to climb trees and talk about their future's, or go swimming naked on the private stream that ran through their family lands. He could not even fight at Jackson's as he fought freely in the salons in New York. Vegeta had forbidden him from ever going to Jacksons—not that he gave Goku a reason, as Goku had quickly learned when Vegeta said something he expected to be obeyed…only Bulma seemed exempt from this rule. In America at least he had the fighting clubs to look forward to, where he could shed his cultured skin for a few hours at a time—here the only fighting he ever saw was with Vegeta, and more and more rarely Krillin.

The next thing that Goku he was certain of was that there was no way he was cut out for the life ahead of him. A viscountcy? Hah! Goku could barely dress himself in the mornings, let alone run the entailed land and people who came with said entailed land. Yeesh. He would much rather be out living in the country. He did not want to have to deal with making decisions that impacted anyone's life but his own. There was just a lot of pressure on him, when all he really wanted to do was fight! His life in England was rolling out before him unpleasant in what it promised. Nothing but a staid and boring existence from here on out it seemed….

The final thing that Goku was one hundred percent absolutely certain of was that he HATED being at events like the one he was currently at. Another stuffy ballroom, full of dreary people, and simpering girls who fawned over nothing but his title…Goku would rather be having one on one tea with the dowager than dealing with these people. Especially since Bulma was at home sick—which forced Goku to interact with others, people he had met before but had no recollection of really, and forced him to dance with girls who seemed to only be able to blink and smile at him.

At least when Bulma was here he always had someone to talk to, even if they could only stand next to each other for a few minutes before the stares got too curious. Sure, his parents were here, so he technically had other's he should have been able to go to and have a conversation with…but Bunny was in the corner with the other matron's, and his father was off somewhere talking about Capsule Corp and technological breakthroughs. Goku would rather stand uncomfortably in the corner like he was than engage in either of those conversations.

Goku was just sighing into his drink, thinking about how much better his life had been before all of this (well, maybe not all of it, as a certain chef's smile floated in front of his face), when he saw a very persistent mama he had been ducking for weeks heading his way, with her simpering and smiling daughter in tow. Goku tightly gripped the cup he was holding, cracking the crystal, and he desperately looked for an escape route as the mama weaved closer and closer through the crowd.

Goku grew more nervous, knowing his window of leaving without looking like he was fleeing was growing smaller and smaller as the gap between him and the shark of a mother vanished. At this point it was either dash away like a mad person—or be stuck in conversation with this woman as she tried to talk Goku into marrying her daughter. On second thought—that was not a hard choice for him at all.

Mind made up Goku quickly ducked out of the corner he was in, practically sprinting down the hallway to the men's drawing room—which he usually avoided like the plague. Filled with cigar smoke and brandy (two things Goku could and would not partake in) and old men who thought that just because he was an American who had inherited the viscountcy that he would of course fall over himself at their advice (as Bulma would say HAH)—no thank you. But right now, he would much rather be in there with the old windbags than out there with the circling sharks who masqueraded as mother's to any girl who was of 'marriageable' age.

Surprisingly, though, when he entered the room it was empty except for his father, devoid of the usual haze of cigar smoke and the chatter of long-winded…windbags.

Dr. Briefs, who had been staring out of a window smoking a cigar, turned at the sound of the door opening. Goku took comfort in seeing the familiar crinkling of his father's eyes as he smiled at him from the corner. "Goku! What a pleasant surprise."

Goku walked over to his dad, glad it was just them as he followed his father's lead and stared out of the window. "Hey dad. What are you doing in here by yourself?"

Dr. Briefs took a long puff on his cigar, the red tip glowing back at them in the pane of the window they were looking through before he blew out a slow exhale, finally shaking his head when he spoke, "Just remembering why I did not want to settle down with your mother in England twenty-fives years ago, and finding out how nothing has changed, unfortunately."

Goku was intrigued by the somewhat vague statement. "Dad?"

Dr. Briefs was starring into nothing, his voice faraway when he answered. "These people crave my friendship so they can get my advice on all things technical, but I'm still little more than a traveling charlatan in their eyes. On one hand they cannot get enough of me and my new ideas, on the other they hate that someone not of their ilk would deign to give them advice…." He shook his head a bit more vigorously this time, as if to shake the maudlin thoughts away, before he smiled at his son looking at his reflection in the glass. "But listen to this old man get morose. I should be asking you why you aren't out there charming the socks off of British society."

Goku grimaced at that thought. "Dad, we both know I'm a Ton-type person."

A chuckle, "Nonsense. Those people cannot get enough of you. You've charmed all of English society with your warmth."

Goku shrugged, uncomfortable. "I don't think they like me much."

"Ah, Goku, that's where you are wrong. They don't have to like you—you already have what they want in a person." Goku turned to his father at that, questioning, but Dr. Briefs eyes grew far-off as he stared back into the dark nothingness of night. His voice was low as he muttered, "A damn title."

Goku had no response to that, watching his father, as Dr. Briefs' frown grew deeper and deeper. Goku could count the number of times he had ever seen his father frown on one hand (well, not counting when an experiment in the lab was not working, but that hardly counted) and he had never seen him like this. "Dad, what's the matter?"

Dr. Briefs shrugged. "It does not matter how old you are or how old your children are for that matter—when you hear someone say something distasteful about your own children...I couldn't help myself."

Goku was staring at him, open interest written in his features. "Couldn't help yourself from doing what?"

Dr. Briefs did not say anything, but instead brought forth the hand he had been holding behind his back the whole conversation, sighing, "I lost control of myself."

Goku gingerly took the offered hand, and sucked in a breath of surprise when he saw the bloody and bruised knuckles. Even if he were not a fighter, Goku would have recognized these wounds were from his father punching someone. Goku looked at his father, shock warring with pride. "You hit someone? What happened? Are you okay?"

Dr. Briefs nodded, shaking off Goku's concern and placing his hand back behind his back. "I'm fine." He waited a beat before adding, "The Earl of Satan's nose might be a good inch from where it was earlier…but I'm okay."

Satan? The name rang absolutely no bells to him but that did not surprise Goku. Indeed, with his head spinning from the revelation of his pacifist father actually striking someone, Goku was lucky to remember his own name in that moment. Still, Goku was more curious as to what Satan would have done to incite a need to strike in his father. "What did the man do? Did he say something?"

Dr. Briefs looked Goku square in the eyes for the first time, shrugging, "More of an innuendo than anything. Something about how your sister and the Duke of Vegetasei both are conspicuously missing tonight, and that they've obviously carrying on an affair under our noses." Dr. Briefs usual line free face grew tight with anger, "He seemed to think that Bulma's beauty did not outweigh her being an American, so that she wasn't good enough for anyone who had a title for anything other than an affair."

Goku tightened his hands into fists, rage that anyone would spread such vile rumors about his sister causing him to grow angry as a fine red mist settled over his vision. "What?"

Dr. Briefs chuckled at seeing Goku's anger, as rare as Dr. Briefs' was, shaking his head at his son. "Yes. I should have just turned away from idle gossip like that—but something struck a nerve. It was not much different about what was said about your mother when we got married. That she was sullying her blood, and that she would not be worth anything now that she had married a man with no title. I guess twenty-five years later it still smarts."

Goku, whose ears were pounding as blood rushed to his head, missed most of his father's words, "Where is he? I'll kill him."

Dr. Briefs gave Goku a stern glance, putting a hand on his son's shoulder, drawing him back to the present. "You will do no such thing my boy. Lord Satan is nothing but a pompous fool, and if I was not such a sought after scientist, he would have every right to call me out for my hitting him. Luckily he was more embarrassed than anything, and he'll want this swept under the rug, much like I do." Dr. Briefs eyes grew unfocused as he muttered, "Though I'm not sure what the chances are of that since there were three gentleman witnesses who will no doubt be gossiping about this in no time."

Goku was still angry at the unjustified slander being thrown at his sister. "He has no right to be saying those things about Bulma! She is twice the woman as any of the other ladies in there, and she is smarter than all of the titled men combined!"

Dr. Briefs gave Goku a pitying look, drawing his eyes back to Goku's own. "You are right on both counts. Especially in that Satan has no right—but your mother and I knew ever since Bulma was young that she would draw the ire of everyone around her. Not because of her personality, but because of who she is. A rich heiress, who has the world going for her. People hate her on principal, but Bulma has always done an extraordinary job of keeping her head held high. I constantly thank Kami that you are here to remind her that she is allowed to have fun, and does not always need to be so stuffy." Dr. Briefs winged an eyebrow up, smirking, "It's why I did not say anything when the two of you stole my pocket watch and returned it a day later, fixed. I don't even want to know how broken it was."

Goku felt slightly sheepish at that, but did not say anything other than a mumbled, "Sorry dad."

Dr. Briefs waved his hand, shooing Goku's unnecessary apology off. "No—don't start that now. It's what I love about the two of you together. And I did not tell you about Lord Satan to incite your latent blood lust Goku."

Goku looked into his father's eyes, curious. "Then why did you?"

Dr. Briefs sighed, "What I'm trying to say about Bulma is because of who she is she will always draw unnecessary hatred for it—and even more so in England, where people believe being born without a title means you are automatically a lesser human being. They hate Bulma because they know she is more beautiful, more resilient, and smarter than any of their own daughters—and their own sons, who were born with titles."

"It's not fair dad!"

Dr. Briefs sighed, shaking his head, "No. It's not. Which is why I need you to always be here for your sister, and to protect her when she needs it the most."

Goku tilted his head, confused. "Of course dad. You already know I will…that we will. We're a family."

Dr. Briefs smiled, giving a nod, squeezing Goku's shoulder before dropping his hand and turning back to the outside view. "That's right son. We are a family. But your mother and I will not always be here for Bulma. Bulma is going to stay in England—I can feel it in my bones. She is going to marry here, most likely someone with a title—and because she is an American, others will hate her for it. So you need to protect her when I cannot, when your mother and me go back to America."

Goku nodded his head, emphatically. "Of course dad! You know I will always take care of her. I love her!"

Dr. Briefs smiled, the familiar crinkling of his eyes back, "Good. I knew I could count on you Goku. It's one of the reasons I know you are my son, blood be damned—you are ready to protect those you love without a moment's hesitation."

Goku smiled at Dr. Briefs, and pulled his father into an impetuous hug. It only lasted a few seconds, but both men squeezed the other, before abruptly letting go, back to staring out the window.

No other words were said between the pair, instead both of them drifting off to their own troubled thoughts as the sounds of the party seeped in through the walls that separated them from everyone else.

* * *

><p>When Bulma returned from the hall closet, where she was grabbing some extra towels for the Duke of Vegetasei's room, she had transformed herself in that short walk. She no longer walked like Bulma Briefs, Capsule Corp heiress, and woman who had the world at her feet, no. Instead she walked hunched over, as meekly as possible, trying to convey the air of someone who had come to London with big dreams and ended up working at a hotel, trying to make ends meet as the coldness of the city shattered her dreams of ever not being a servant….If she had been given enough time, Bulma would have thought up a whole new name and back story for herself, but as it was, she was just going to have to wing it.<p>

When she finally reached the door she had just exited, she gave it a meek nod, keeping her eyes low, never going above eye level as Vegeta opened the door. "Yer towels, yer Grace."

Vegeta grabbed the top two towels from her, growling in his most authoritative voice, "No more disturbances."

"O' course, yer Grace."

He had flipped pence over to her, and Bulma had greedily pocketed it as Vegeta slammed the door on her face. As Bulma slowly turned, her head still kept low (there was a window at the end of the hallway, so who knew who could be watching her from there) as she carried the rest of her towels to the next room, she used the opportunity to study her surroundings. It was a fairly straightforward hallway, the walls a cream color with thin gold stripes, and the rich carpet absorbing her footfalls— in other words, still opulent and expensive.

As she reached the first suite on the left, deciding to go in a clockwise circle as she searched the rooms, Bulma felt herself pause as she stopped outside one of the rooms. Okay—this was it. This was where shit got real for her. She was about to break into a room. As her hand dropped into her pocket for her trusty bobby-pin, she found it to be shaking, and she took a second to clasp the bobby pin her hand, close her eyes and take a deep breath, before she withdrew her hand again. _Come on Bulma. You got this_.

Due to her innate skill with lock-picking (useful for when her and Goku pulled pranks), she easily slipped the bobby pin in, twirled it for a few seconds, and heard the soft click that let her know the door was now unlocked.

She allowed herself to straighten as she entered the room, once the door was closed, she began looking at the room layout, realizing it was almost identical to what her and Vegeta had. There was a large sitting room, with two hallways leading to two different rooms. Everything was bought with the intention of shouting out wealth and richness, and provided plenty of spaces for people to hide a slip of paper. Bulma's stomach roiled at that thought, but she forced herself to inhale deeply, trying to calm down. Only to find the fresh smell of a clean hotel room overwhelming to her senses.

Well, she doubted the list would be hidden in the sitting room... she should probably start with the first room. As she gingerly clutched the towels she was using as her excuse for being here ('Dinna someone ask for towels?') tighter, she took a few more steps into the room.

_Clack, clack, clack!_

Bulma whirled, _what the hell is that?_Her eyes going large as she looked around the empty room for the source of the noise. Was there someone coming down the hallways? Should she hide? Where should she hide? What if she was about to die?

_Clippity-clop, clippity-clop_.

_Oh_. It was just the sound of a horse drawn carriage on the cobblestones eighty feet below her. Bulma walked over to one of the windows in the sitting room, looking down, before she pulled away, getting a chill when she saw how far down it was to the ground. In New York, there were buildings like this, industry buildings... Bulma just never went into them. It was not that she had a fear of heights—hell, she could climb trees, and buildings if necessary (thinking about the night she had overheard Zhelonie's meeting with Ginyu), but there was something about looking down and seeing how unnaturally high up one was that got her nerves fraying.

She pulled away from the window, shivering, and focused in on the first room, glad the carpet muffled her footsteps as she walked down the hallway. Even though she was ninety-nine percent sure that the room was empty, Bulma tapped lightly on it, her Irish singsong voice thick as she said, "House-keepin'."

Nothing.

Bulma gave a sigh, entering the room and forcing herself to observe her surroundings. Like the one she had used to change, it was dominated by a large four poster bed, the only other furniture a nightstand, a desk and chair, and a dresser. There was also a medium sized walk in closet. Unlike her room—this one was obviously well used. There were clothes strewn everywhere, there was a faintly lived-in smell that dominated the clean scene of the sitting room, and the top of the dresser was covered with jars and jars of makeup and perfume. Bulma was confused for a second—she had thought that this was a man's room, as all members of the Ginyu were men—but then remembered that they were actors.

Eccentric types, in other words.

Who was she to judge them for wearing make-up?

Well, besides someone who was very obviously searching through their rooms….

Bulma took a delicate step into the room, closing the door behind her, and put the towels down on the desk. She put her hands on her hips, surveyed the room with a sort of helplessness that felt foreign to her. _Where do I even begin?_

Well that would not do—Bulma Briefs was not a helpless person. She was a go-getter—and that meant she was going to ransack this room right and well. With that in mind she took a step forward….

_Tick, tick, tick._

_What the hell is that?_Bulma jumped out of her skin, turning, her hands up in fists, ready to fight whoever was making that sound—until she saw one of those monstrous Swedish made clocks attached to the wall—obviously not part of the hotel decor, and this person's personal addendum to the room. It was hideous—and extremely loud.

But no reason to freeze up and waste precious time. Especially as she saw what time it was—cripes! Her and Vegeta had arrived shortly before eight, and it was now close to nine—she only had until about eleven-ten to search. She had at least five more rooms to search—she could not lolly-gag about, jumping at every noise she heard if she was ever going to get them done in time. She was in the heart of London. There was always going to be noise. She needed to keep herself alert, but Kami, not this alert. She needed to focus, and start searching—and start searching now.

She took out her pocket watch, sighed when she saw that the Swiss clock was in fact right and it was time to start searching like a pro. She rolled up her proverbial sleeves, and steeled herself for what she was about to do. If she did not find this list, she would not be just disappointing herself, or the British crown for that matter—she would be disappointing Vegeta.

She frowned at that last thought…when had it started mattering to her whether or not she disappointed Vegeta? Hell—when they had first gotten to England, she would have welcome every and all opportunity to make sure she disappointed him. Now…now though, it mattered to her greatly that she did a good job in his eyes…And she knew that one way to please him tonight, to make him proud of her, would be to find that list.

Funny how that was the thought that finally put a reign on her wayward thoughts, got her to calm down, and start searching...

* * *

><p>By the time she had entered the final suite, she had about thirty-two minutes left to search she noted as she saw it was just after ten-forty-three. Only one more sitting room, and three more bedrooms to look through. Easy-peasy. She could do this in thirty-two minutes no problem.<p>

She used her trusty bobby pin to unlock the door, towels in one hand and began her thorough sweep of the room with her eyes. It was almost mechanical now—the rooms all had the same furniture and mostly the same layout, so she would move in a clockwise motion around the room, looking for secret catches, latches, and sewn in pouches. She would lift furniture, she would crawl on her hands and knees—she found the more searching she did, the better she got at looking. So far she had not found the list she was looking for, though she was finding an odd collection of weapons hidden inside of other things (umbrella's, walking sticks—hell, even shoes) that let her know she was searching in the rooms of spies and not ordinary actors and at least doing it right.

Bulma was in the second to last of the rooms she had to look through when she finally struck gold. She almost missed it, because her brain had been on autopilot as she did her search, but something stopped her from getting off of her hands and knees as she looked under the bed. Though the hotel was clean, there was a complete lack of dust from under the right side of the bed.

A sixth sense told Bulma that this was not due to some meticulous maid—but because there was an abundance of movement around and under this side of the bed. She frowned as she ran her hands along the bottom of the bed, crawling under a little to see if she could see anything—nothing stood out though. No bumps, no papers stuffed under the box springs.

She frowned as she stood, her eyes moving over to the nightstand that was standard in any room. Bulma opened the shelves as she had been doing, and found nothing to catch her interest. She had a feeling this nightstand was central to what she was looking for, though, and she decided to see if she could lift this one. The other ones in the other bedrooms had proven to be too much for her to lift, as they were solid, thick wood— but when she put her hands underneath the lip of this one, it had easily lifted, and Bulma had to smile. _Success!_

Sure enough, when she had gotten back on her hands and knees, she saw that the underside was hollowed out, with one of the legs completely emptied out. It was a small hole, but with her small hands and fingers, Bulma was able to reach inside, and pull out a tiny paper shoved in there.

Bulma froze for a second as she put the side table back down, and sat with her back against the bad, looking at the seemingly innocuous slip of paper—it was not big, nor was it brightly colored. In other words it looked like a simple slip of paper rolled up…but when Bulma unrolled it, her eyes had grown larger than she had ever thought possible as she took it all in.

Holy cow. This was it—a Russian note, written as a grid-list that had the alias, the suspected spy that fit that alias and where that spy possibly was currently located in England and abroad.

Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!

Bulma's mouth grew dry and she felt a strange exhilaration spread from her rapidly beating heart all the way through her body as she eyed the list, knowing she had done it. This was it— this was the list that Basil had trusted her to find— and guess what—she had found it! Vegeta was going to be so proud of her!

Bulma bounced up off of the ground, unable to stop herself from doing a little jig as she kissed the list from pure unadulterated happiness. _Who's the best? I'm the best! Who's the best? I'm the best! Who's the—ouch!_Bulma stubbed her toe on the side of the table the list had been found under, and she frowned at the mutinous appendage, wondering why it had to ruin her celebration. She sighed as she realized she was frowning at her toe though, and forced herself to stop acting like a kid and to get her head back in the game. Yes, she had found the list, but she was not done yet. Quickly, she tamped the heady joy down, forcing herself to go to the writing table and transcribe everything she saw on the list. It was long, but she used her own form of shorthand to copy it as quickly as possible. With this information the war offices could save lives, and hopefully figure out who was leaking out the information about who these spies were.

As she finished transcribing, Bulma gave a quick look down the list, smiling when she saw that Vegeta's name (or alias) was not on it at all. He was safe!…Well, he was safe for now! She would have to take that….

Bulma gave the list one last kiss, than carefully wrapped it up again, walking back over to the dummy end table. She slunk back on her hands and knees one last time, propping the table up, and putting her hand underneath as she pressed her face into the side of the bed. _It would be the last suite I checked that would have the list, wouldn't it? But at least it wasn't the last room? It was still the second to last room though—__what the hell was that__?_

Bulma froze in the position she was currently in, her hindquarters raised in the air as she realized that the click she had heard was not something on the streets that she could easily dismiss—it was the sound of the front door of this suite opening.

Bulma's happiness evaporated like water in the sun on a hot day, her heart stopping as she felt a rising panic threaten to overwhelm her completely. _Hold it together Bulma!_Maybe she was imagining things again? What could someone possibly be doing here already? Curtain didn't even fall for another thirty-eight minutes! She had plenty of time before anyone was expected back!

That brief moment of hope was dashed though, when she heard the loud slamming of a door that alerted her to the fact that it was not her overactive imagination playing tricks on her. Someone was here and they had just come through the front door of the suite she was in.

_Shit. Shit. Shit_.

Bulma stayed frozen for only long enough to realize that footsteps were heading IN HER DIRECTION, before she sprang into action, moving quickly. She shoved the papers back into the empty leg, uncaring of how neat they looked before she flattened herself, rolling under the dust cover that surrounded the bed, entering the darkness under the bed. It was not the best (or most original) of hiding spaces, but it was the only one readily available as the footsteps got louder and louder moving closer to her.

Thankfully there was just enough space under the bed for her to squeeze in, because not a second after she made sure the dust cover was back down she heard the door to the room she was in creak open. Bulma had to cover her mouth with her hand, stifling a gasp, her erratic heartbeats making it next to impossible to hear anything. Bulma, closing her eyes, forced herself to breathe normally for a few seconds, to find her Zen zone—she needed to be alert, not panicking like a startled mare, freaking out. So she took a few deep breaths, found her center, and then opened her eyes, and moved her hand from her mouth, ready to move the second whoever was in this room, left it.

But just in case they did not, Bulma reached into the pocket of her costume, noiselessly transforming the key Vegeta had given her not two hours before into a little gun. When that was done, Bulma curled on her side, opened her eyes, and pointed the gun towards the footsteps, praying to Kami that she was not going to have to shoot someone tonight…

* * *

><p>Guldo was long used to getting the least savory parts out of any of the Ginyu Force troupe members. For one, he was the least attractive in the whole troupe (Jeice was always fighting the ladies off after for the show), and for two he had not an ounce of acting skills (like Burter or their Captain did), nor the singing ability (like Recoome, who had the tenor of an angel) in his body to make up for that fact.<p>

Guldo always got delegated to lesser roles, or, if he was lucky, stage direction. Only if the Captain was feeling magnanimous though—there was no doubt Ginyu was a control freak who had a very hard time handing over the reins to anyone, even one of his trusted team members. So Guldo had long gotten used to being the least on-stage utilized member whenever the Ginyu Force had to go through the charade of being an acting company. He did not usually mind, seeing as he was the brain behind many of their most successful operations…except for times like this.

The opera tonight was not even over for a while yet, but that rotten scoundrel of a secret agent, Zhelonie, looking for the latest list from Frieza, had visited the Ginyu Force. Guldo had known that Ginyu was not pleased with being forced to play mailman between Frieza and Zhelonie, especially not with the information the Ginyu Force had stolen from the War Offices—but he had to do what he was told. It was all part of being under Frieza's thumb. You did what Frieza wanted you to do, no questions asked—or you were punished.

And everyone who knew anything about Frieza knew that his punishments were not something you would wish on the worst of your enemies.

So Ginyu had heeded Zhelonie's order and had called upon Guldo, who was not in the last act, to go to the hotel to get the list a day earlier than they had been told to have it. Guldo was basically relegated to the role of errand runner, but this was a list that was not to be trusted to anyone less than the members of the Ginyu Force, so he had gone without a (verbal) complaint. He had grumbled the whole way back to the hotel in his head, though, knowing he had to hurry, bitter that he was missing out on the best tail with every moment he wasted back at the stupid hotel. Jeice could only have so many women a night, and there were always a few of his leftovers that just wanted to sleep with _someone_who had been on stage. Guldo was going to be missing out on these woman if he did not grab the list and practically run all the way back to the opera house.

He entered the Captain's suite hurriedly (_he didn't have to share_, Guldo thought bitterly) hurriedly, and went to the empty guest room, and reached for the side table, easily lifting the hollowed out side table. He got on his hands and knees, imagining what he would like to do with some willing female tonight (_maybe put her in this position_ he pondered) as he reached for where he knew the list was hidden. As he extracted the list though, he frowned, seeing how it was haphazardly shoved back into the table's empty leg. Usually the Captain was more meticulous than that…though things had been getting extremely stressful within the Ginyu Force lately (what with Frieza being so _close)_, so Guldo could hardly blame him for not having the list placed in as carefully as he usually did.

Guldo felt a tremor of unease at this as he rose slowly, after making sure the side table was back where it belonged. He frowned to the side table, trying to see if the groves in the carpet were off, or if it showed any sign of someone having recently moved it— nothing. Still, something was…off.

Letting his instincts as a trained assassin kick in, Guldo dropped back to his knees quickly, in one smooth, fluid movement that did not quite fit with his stature, and lifted the dust covering of the bed. Though the area was dark, Guldo's eyes adjusted to the dim underside of the bed as he took the area in, his hand also grasping so that he could feel to see if anything felt wrong. As he took a deep breath, studying the area, his eyes grew even larger as he found…

Nothing.

Absolutely frickin' nothing.

Guldo's large eyes swept the area a few more times for good measure, trying to see if anything was seriously out of place—but still, he found nothing to be concerned about. He even sniffed the air trying to find a misplaced scent, but all he got for that was a mouthful of dust that caused him to sneeze. He straightened out from under the bed as he sneezed, then chuckled, shaking his head. _Nerves!_ Frieza being here, and all of their hard work for the last several years coming to a head were playing with his mind!

Guldo stood, dusting himself off, and then looked at his pocket watch, wondering if he had time for a quick bite before he got back to the opera. He was constantly hungry, but especially when he was nervous. As he saw the time though, he let out a loud curse as he realized that the final act would be ending soon. Dammit! He needed to get back to the theater now if he wanted to get some of Jeice's leftovers!

As he exited the room, looking at it one last time to make sure nothing was out of place, he put the unease from his mind and went back to fantasizing about how his night would shape up, wondering what the broads in the next country they stopped in would look like….

_Whump!_

Guldo, for the second time that night, froze completely, halfway to the front door of the suite, a cold shiver running down his back as the loud sound emanating from the room he had just left hit him like a physical object. Very slowly, Guldo turned, his eyes wide as he surveyed the innocent seeming door. Taking a gulp, knowing what the consequences would be if it were ever found out that someone had been in the room with him and he had missed it, Guldo very slowly walked back to the room he had just left, hoping and praying it was nothing but his imagination playing tricks on him. Halfway there, he took a sticky swallow, his mouth feeling suddenly parched, and he unconsciously reached for the gun that was always in his pocket, cocking it as he reached the closed door, putting his back against the wall next to it as he held the gun up, taking a deep breath. _Easy Guldo…you don't know that you even heard anything…_

Instinct kicking in, Guldo swiftly turned, and kicked the closed-door open, his gun aimed in front of him as his wide eyes took in the whole room.

Empty!

_What the...?_Guldo kept his gun held in front of him as he did a sweep of the room, looking back under the bed, opening the closet, hell even under the hollowed out side table, looking for a single hair out of place.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

He chuckled as he holstered his gun, shaking his head at his own skittishness. Damn, his nerves must be fried if he was imagining sounds that realistic…though the room did feel a little colder. Odd.

Guldo was sure that nothing was out of place now, but decided to play it safe and check the windowsill outside of the room just in case…He did not think there was anyone crazy enough to be crawling around out there, but it never hurt to be too careful or paranoid in this line of business.

Guldo walked over to the one window in the room, and slid it open; the window faced the Thames, the view clear as it was the tallest building closest to the river's shore. The cool, humid air from the river reached him even here, and as he stuck his head out, how much fresher the London air smelled up here surprised him. Gulping, Guldo forced the fear of heights he had always had, down, and took a deep breath as he braced his hands on either side of the window and stuck his head out.

_Don't look down, don't look down—oh fuck!_

Guldo made the mistake he always made of looking down, and his hands gripped the window frame hard enough to cause his hands to start hurting—though he hardly noticed as his heart was in his throat as he saw how far up he was. Eight fucking floors—this was kind of his worst nightmare. The thought of free-floating as he fell from his precarious position (though he would of course later realize he was in no danger at all from the safety of his own room) and smacking into the ground had him grinding his teeth. Nope. No thank you. This was not for him.

Still, he knew if he did not give a perfunctory look, and it turned out there was someone out here, he would have to deal with a lot more than is fear of heights. So, very quickly, and somehow gripping the windowsill even tighter, Guldo took a deep breath, then looked from side to side, before pulling his head back in before he could even process what he was looking at. He stumbled away from the open window, taking a second to hold his rapidly beating heart as he leaned against the side of the dresser, breathing hard.

As soon as he could breathe normally again, Guldo took a moment to close his eyes and think about what he had observed, even with his quick glance. Hey—he was part of the Ginyu Force— he could observe without even observing, and he could do so even when he was scared out of his mind. But there had been nothing—there had been nothing outside of that window. Not a Kami-damned thing.

Guldo finally felt his heartbeat return to normal, and taking his hanky out, he wiped off the cold sweat he was not even aware he had broken into, off of his brow, before standing, straightening his clothes. Calmly, he pulled out his pocket watch, and looked at the time. Oh Kami! It was almost curtain—it was way past the time the captain had told him to return for their arranged meeting with Zhelonie! Forget the women he wanted to sleep with! The last thing he wanted to do was to piss off Zhelonie…that man had way too much power for his own good!

As he left the suite, waiting for the vanishing room, Guldo could not help but grow even more self-pitying as he thought about what circumstances had led him to being here with his head stuck out of a window instead of backstage, tupping with one of the ensemble members. Stupid being the ugliest member of the Ginyu Force. Jeice got to seduce foreign women, and what did Guldo get?

An over-imagination and a fear of heights it seemed…

* * *

><p>Bulma held herself pressed to the side of the building, a mere four feet away from the window she had just used to escape the room she had been in, forcing herself to breathe in slowly and surely, calming the rising tide of fear she felt clawing at her as she clung to the cold stone of the buildings front.<p>

From her current, shoe-less position, Bulma could tell one that she had never been more scared in her life, clinging to a side of a building as she tried not to breathe too deeply as every breath pushed her precious millimeters away from the wall she was clinging too. The air was colder, harsher up her, whipping her wig around her, into her eyes, nose, mouth. She was tempted to rip the whole damn thing from her head, but she needed it to walk back to the room she was sharing with Vegeta as she needed it to say in character so she could not get rid of it yet.

Bulma thought about how she ended up in this position, less than pleased with the situation….

_She had managed to elude the other person in the room, by hiding first under the bed then rolling to the other side of the bed when she sensed they were going to check under the bed. When the footsteps had finally left the room Bulma's earlier excitement on finding the list had completely disappeared and turned into panic. The walls were closing in around her, she felt trapped, like a rat in a maze, or like she had on the boat when she knew that there was nowhere to go.__  
><em>

_What was she doing still in here? She had found the Kami-damned list—she needed to escape, and she needed to do it fast! There was an unknown quantity, a person, a person in the suite with her. A person who might want to kill her if they found her, who would undoubtedly torture her, maybe rape her, then murder her! She was not a spy! She was a Kami-damned inventor! She was not supposed to die like this—she was supposed to die in her bed, old, surrounded by people who loved her! __  
><em>

_As her thoughts spiraled more and more out of control, she mentally slapped herself._ Pull it together Briefs! _She imagined Vegeta scolding her, disappointed in her inability to hold it together at the first sign of trouble. _He was already against you as a spy, do you want to prove him right? Or do you want to make him proud of what a good job you are doing?

_With that, Bulma found the second of calm she needed to think about what her next step would be. Well obviously the first thing she needed to do was get out of this room. Now. Her time for playing spy for tonight was over, and all she wanted, all she needed, was to be back in her room, preferably with a cup of hot chocolate. Not in this deadly spies bedroom!__  
><em>

Think Bulma, think! _She considered the door that the other person had just gone through, but struck that thought from her mind as quickly as it had entered it. She had never heard anyone leave the suite, for one, and for two, she could not risk running into anyone in the hallway in her current state. She could barely remember her real name, let alone a fake story that she could convincingly spout off to people who could seriously hurt her.__  
><em>

_Her eyes landed frantically on the only window in the room, and, decision made, she ran to it, unlocked it and opened it, silently. As she looked out, she saw that the ledge went out maybe a foot from the side of the building, wrapping around the building giving her a convenient place to both walk on and hold onto above her. Still, as she coldly and clinically looked at the ledge, she remembered her earlier moment of panic when she had simply looked out of a window. How much worse would it get when she was actually out there? __  
><em>

_She gave an involuntary shake at that thought, as if she could erase the doubts from her mind, simply from shaking her head. It might seem foolish, but it was enough to get her going, though. Enough for her to realize what she needed to do. Namely—stop acting like this, and get her butt out on the ledge until she was sure the other person had left the room._

_Bulma gave herself a good, fast pep talk, and then grasped the side of the window frame, ready to pull herself out…except she made the mistake of looking down and seeing how far the drop between where she was and the ground was. Shit.__  
><em>

_Bulma pulled her head back in, hyperventilating and considered hiding under the bed again—what was she? Fucking crazy? She could climb trees, not climb around flat buildings— she was going to die. Maybe the bed would be the safest place for her for now? __  
><em>

_But then she heard soft footfalls on the other side of the bedroom door, and knew that it was now or never. What was she going to do? Stay in the room all night? Hiding, under the bed? That was almost certain death when she got caught—no one would believe her maid story if they found her hiding underneath the bed. Though certain death contingent upon getting caught was nowhere as near as certain a death was if she fell from that height…._Stop it Bulma!

_The window was her only option here, and she needed to go with her instinct. She would wait out there until she could be sure the other person had left the suite, and then head back through the hallway back to where Vegeta was waiting for her so she could say her first (and only?) mission as a real spy had been a rousing success. She felt herself grow a bit steadier as she thought about Vegeta—he would not hesitate to climb around the outside of a building, and she could almost see him mocking her for being afraid right now. Right! If there was anything to give her the strength she needed to do this…it was that.__  
><em>

_So Bulma had taken off the high-heeled boots and stockings she was wearing, frowning at them. They were the only shoes she had brought and they were completely unsuitable for gripping the side of a building. But they were a nice pair of shoes…though if it were the shoes or her life, Bulma had to admit it was not a hard choice. She took them off, as well as the silk stockings that would make her feet more slippery against the marble ledge, and considered leaving both of them in the room, and decided upon placing them on the window ledge on the other side she would need to walk on, hoping that they would not fall and hurt anyone. She wondered what would happen if anyone ever discovered her shoes, but she could not take the risk of leaving her shoes behind as evidence, or throwing them out the window (where they might forcibly strike someone, and cause attention to be brought to her). So they would have to be left behind on the ledge, that was that.__  
><em>

_Once that was done, Bulma used her upper body strength and had slowly made her way out of the window, forcing herself to breathe and to not look down as she found firm footing with her bare feet. As she pulled herself out completely, her feet found solid marble, and she grasped the ledge above her with her hands, giving herself a second to breathe, to compose herself as she pressed into the cool brick. It was windier up here than it was on the ground, and chillier too. Her rapidly beating heart sped up, increasing her body temperature, and Bulma took a deep breath._ Air smelled nicer up here too, _she noticed subconsciously. __  
><em>

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this._  
><em>

_But she had to close the window before she could even move, and so Bulma let go of the ledge she was holding onto with white knuckles, praying as she tried to quietly move the window back to the closed position. Unfortunately for her, Mother Nature had other ideas, and gravity had taken over the window closing with a loud thunking sound that she was sure even a deaf person could hear. Her heart had stopped for just a moment, but when it started beating triple time, she sprang into action. She could not stand here frozen with the noise she had just made! She needed to move, and she needed to move fucking fast in case the other person in the suite had heard and was coming to investigate. Fucking Mother Nature!__  
><em>

_Bulma began to move quickly, right hand and right foot moving, the left hand and left foot sliding after them, gaining inches with the pace she was going at, but moving surely and slowly along.__  
><em>

_Coming to one of the half-pillars that jutted out of the exposed brick of the building, Bulma gulped and forced herself to use her upper-arm strength (which she had to admit was puny), helped along by the adrenaline surging through her blood to slide around the pillar (where the ledge shrank to a few inches), keeping herself pressed to the cold exterior as she sent prayers off to any deity she could currently think of. With her arms and legs moving in tandem she made it to the other side and she resisted the urge she had to let out a sob of relief as the ledge grew back out to a foot rather than three inches._Oh thank Kami!

_Not a second after she reached the other side of the jutted pillar, she heard the swooping of the window opening again, and Bulma sucked in her breath, pressing herself flat to the wall behind the pillar, praying and hoping that the person had not seen her as she had slid around it. She felt a cold sweat began to drip down her back, and she forced herself to close her eyes, and take some calming breaths._You are the wall. You are the wall, you are the mother-fucking wall and you will kill anyone who dares to fucking disagree with you…

Yup, her prayers had paid off (or in part), because shortly after she had heard the window closing and the distinctive click of a lock barely a second after they had been opened. Whoever had been on the other side of that window must have had a more crippling fear of heights than she did if they were not even going to stick their head out and get a good look. She doubted she was that hidden behind the pillar…. Instead of feeling relief, though, she felt blind panic setting in as she realized that it was not just the closing of a window she had heard, but the clicking of a lock as well.

So that was how she found herself in this current predicament, She was currently hanging to the ledge of a building, with no shoes on, dressed in a ridiculous maid costume—and the only window she knew was open was now locked to her. Oh, and the wind had just picked up, bringing some suspicious looking clouds closer and closer to her….

_Fuck. _

_Fuckity fuck fuck fuck._

* * *

><p>AN: Tune in next week to see just how Bulma gets out of her current predicament, and to get some glimpses into just what the hell is going on in Vegeta's head during this time…

Also, you guys really need to check out CrimsonGriffin's fanart, on deviantart titled Formal Wear- The Dark Duke. It's Bulma in her evening wear from that fateful Vegetasei Ball, and they did an amazing job! Also, if you have not already, also stop by and check out Sami01's The Dark Duke (also on deviantart) to see Vegeta in Victorian Era garb. These are both amazing artists who have turned my words into real art—I love it!

See you guys next week, just in time for the one year anniversary of me posting this story!


	24. High Anxiety

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: The most cussing I've ever had in a chapter. Don't know if I should be proud of that…but I am!

A/N: Lilpumpkingirl, once again you are a star…or, in honor of the upcoming American holiday, baby you're a firework! Thank you for everything!

Now for anyone who hates emotional things, I suggest you skip ahead to the chapter now. For those of you who don't mind my emotional ramblings, this is for you:

It has been one year since I first posted this story, one year since I first drummed up the courage to take this little tale of mine and post it online. I still remember the shock and delight I got from getting a notification that someone had left my very first review. I still get that shock and delight every time I get those review (now comment?) notification emails, and am so surprised that people who I have never met before are so sweet to me. Now, just between mediaminer and , I have over three hundred reviews (SERIOUSLY? WOOHOO!) for this fic, and all of them let me know how much you guys are enjoying this story. Thank you to those of you who just check in when you find something particularly funny or awesome (seriously, I've laughed more at your guys' hilarious reviews than I have in a while), and thank you to all of you who review every chapter. We may have never met, and we may never meet, but I get a thrill seeing the same names over and over! You guys like me. You really like me!

So I want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I would thank you all individually if I could, send you baked goods if I could, but instead I'll just keep posting chapters. This story is definitely not over yet, and I hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy posting it.

Love ya all,

Okieday17

Now onto the story!

Chapter Twenty-Three: High Anxiety

Bulma was currently_ hanging to the ledge of a building, _with_ no shoes on_, dressed in a ridiculous maid costume—and the only window she knew was open was now_ locked _to her_._

_Fuck. _

_Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck._

What was she going to do? What. The. Fuck. Was. She. Going. To. Do?

She wasn't a spy! She was an inventor! She had no business being trapped to the side of a building! She should be safely ensconced in her lab, making the world a better place—NOT ABOUT TO DIE! How in the hell had she let herself get into a Kami-damned position like this?

_STOP! _she screamed mentally at herself. This was not helping her situation, and while Bulma would like to do nothing more than dissolve into a puddle of tears, bemoaning how such a fate could happen to someone as beautiful and smart as she, that would accomplish absolutely nothing at a time like this. She needed to focus, and she needed to focus like it was yesterday. Especially since if she tried to sit and cry, she would most likely fall of a building—and she was not going to die like that. Not today, not any day. Bulma Briefs controlled her own destiny, thank you very much.

She allowed herself to take a minute to finish her freak out, and then took some deep, calming breaths noting that the crisp air off of the Thames made her feel slightly better than the stuffy air of the room she had just been in. Bulma gave herself those sixty seconds, and then she forced herself to stop worrying about how she had gotten here or why she was not safe at home, and worry more about what she was going to do TO GET OFF THIS BUILDING.

_Okay Bulma. You can do this. Look at what you've done already tonight! You've searched the rooms of five spies, and you found the most important list in the history of lists! Climbing around a building is nothing! Just think of it as a tree, not as a building where you are like eighty feet off the ground_. Her stomach dropped at that thought and she resisted the urge to let out a hysterical giggle. Her brain was not pleased with her at that, and it screamed, _NOT HELPING STUPID SUBCONSCIOUS_! Bulma refused to let herself think about what it meant to her sanity that her conscious and subconscious were fighting with each other, and instead made herself stop thinking and start moving.

The longer she clung to the side of the building, the more she was inviting debilitating stiffness or hand cramps to set in, which would impede her current death like grip that was keeping her safely attached to the building. Not only that, but the wind was picking up, and if she was not careful, it was going to get harder and harder to slide against the wind as she currently was doing, especially with the bulky, coarse outfit she was wearing. She needed to take advantage of having the adrenaline rush she was currently feeling in her extremities (giving her strength where she usually had none), and start moving towards the suite her and Vegeta had been in earlier tonight.

Right hand, right foot, left hand, left foot. And repeat.

Slow and steady, slow and steady.

She kept her fingers gripping tightly even as they began to ache in protest, moving as she was to the corner of the building. She had searched the rooms in a clockwise pattern. That meant she was next to the room Vegeta was currently waiting for her in, but she had to round the corner before she would get to the first window of their suites. She was so close. She could taste it. And she was already imagining the wonderful feeling of having solid floor beneath her feet again. Bliss…pure untainted bliss. That's what that would be. After this, she would never leave the ground again…though that would make it quite difficult to travel, but she would cross that bridge (literally) when she came to it.

Bulma felt the strange surge physicality, making her thoughts and physical pain seem nonexistent as she zeroed in on only moving her appendages, getting closer to where she knew Vegeta was waiting for her. She ignored the cold seeping into her fingers and toes from the freezing marble. She ignored the way muscles she did not know she possessed screamed in achy protest. Hell, she even ignored the way her scalp itched from the cheap wig she was wearing.

She just moved, her eyes on the prize as she tried to forget how high up she was, or where exactly she was. She had to slide past two other pillars as she approached the corner, but she was able to, focusing only on what her hands and feet were doing. Not letting her mind wander from the task at hand (_and foot, ha ha_…even her non-verbal laugh sounded weak to her…damn).

At one point she felt and heard the crunching of some twigs, and Bulma frowned, looking down to where her feet were and realized she was stepping on the edge of a bird's nest… and quite a large bird at that. Bulma shivered and gingerly stepped over the brown-speckled eggs, imagining what kind of bird she would run into up this high. Knowing her luck, it would be some large predator hawk or something. Her overactive imagination had a scenario play out of her being attacked by some bird as she accidentally stepped on its eggs, and she grew even more frantic as she kept moving past the imaginary hawk.

As she rounded the corner, Bulma let out a gasp of relief as she saw a glowing light from the window closest to the corner. Never had she been so glad to see the soft glow of candlelight before— never had she felt her own body break down with the need to start crying tears of relief, as desperately as she did in that moment. This had to be one of their room's. It had to be! She was so close!

Bulma tamped down the urge to cry, and kept moving, moving closer to that inviting glow of candle. Mechanical and slow as she got closer to where the window jutted out from the exposed bridge. As she approached the window enough to peak in through the curtains, she felt a grin split her face as she recognized it as the bedroom she had used to change in earlier. She had made it! She was back in her room! Well, almost, she thought as her foot slid over a crack in the ledge—not wide enough to take her foot with it, but wide enough to jut into the bottom of her foot and remind her she was not yet safe. She needed to make it to the window itself. Open said window. Final step—enter the room. Then she would be safe, then she could give into the ridiculous urge she had to cry for weeks and weeks on end. Preferably into the warm, strong shoulders of the man she knew was waiting for her….

Hell, he was probably wondering where she was right now. She would like to think this meant that he was worried, concerned about her welfare and wellbeing, but knowing Vegeta, he was more likely just annoyed with her.

She was drawn back from her thoughts of how annoyed Vegeta probably was with her as she felt the wind pick up, whipping the ends of her maids uniform around her legs. Bulma grew frustrated with the heavy cloth, but could do nothing about it. Lest she wanted to shed her only clothes on the side of a building. No, that would also have to wait, until she was inside. She needed to just get that much closer…

When Bulma finally edged close enough to the promise land (aka the window) she let go of the top ledge with one of her arms, using the other one to anchor herself (clawing into the icy marble with her hand) as she leaned back from the building to grab the window edge. Her hand worked its way down slowly as she reached for the lip of the windowsill she needed, wrapping her fingers desperately around the wood of the frame. She sighed in relief and shifted so she could use more of her arm strength to tug at the window, but frowned as she felt resistance as she pulled up.

It was locked!

_Kami, dammit!_

She tried again, but when it did not budge she was forced to stop tugging and think, not allowing herself to give into the panic that was clawing at her, closing her throat. The happiness she had felt at reaching the window threatened to vanish like a puff of smoke, but Bulma forced herself to stand back up, and to think. It was still going to be okay. She was still almost in there, still almost back to solid ground. That was what mattered. Not the way the wind was picking up again, or the way the wig was almost completely off of her head, or the way her hands and feet began to feel numb from a combination of the cold weather as well as the grip she had been using on both of them…

She felt her teeth began to chatter, but she ignored it as best as she could, instead focusing on the window. Vegeta was still in there, waiting for her, and all she would need to do was knock, and he would hear her. That would be her ticket out of here… simple as that. So she began to knock on the locked window, using as much force as she dared, trying to draw his attention. She rapped for who knows how long, alternating between knocking with her knuckles and thudding against it with her feet—but nothing. The longer it went on, the more panicked she grew, her raps becoming more frequent, her kicking more erratic, as were her thoughts: _What is taking him so long? I'm just hanging off the KAMI-DAMNED SIDE OF A BUILDING! WHAT WAS HE DOING RIGHT NOW? SITTING IN HIS ROBE? DRINKING? WHERE THE FUCK WAS HE?_

As her knuckles started to ache from the force of her knocking, Bulma made herself stop, to press back against the building giving her arm that was supporting her some rest, and to take some deep breaths. _Okay Briefs_, she told herself, _don't panic_.

Bulma wished she had brought at least one shoe with her in her pocket—then she could break the window open without fear of slashing her wrist or legs as she punched or kicked through the glass. Her shoes were heavy enough they could break the thin pane that separated her from her current salvation. If she tried to use her bare fist or hands to break through the glass, though, the wounds she could sustain from that alone could be life ending with the blood loss. Or worse, she realized with a gulp…she could miscalculate, not kick hard enough and then accidentally propel herself off of the building in the complete other direction.

_Stupid Newton's third law of motion! The guy gets hit by a damn apple and he decides that I have to have an equal and opposite reaction?_ Some part of Bulma's panic stricken mind, the one that was constantly inventing, knew that was not true, but she was hardly going to listen to that part of her brain right now….

Bulma sighed, closed her eyes and thought of what her best course of action would be. Risk seriously hurting herself? Wait and keep knocking? No—she would just have to keep moving and find the room where Vegeta actually was, flagging his attention down so he could let her in. That was all there was to it—she just had to keep moving. She had made it this far. What were a few more yards to someone as amazing as her?

Nothing!

But then, as if someone upstairs could sense her growing ease with the situation, the heavens above her opened up and started to pour down rain all over Bulma. Not a light drizzle, either, but a fucking London downpour—the kind that soaked and chilled someone through to their bones within seconds of being outside.

_Well, fuck this! _

Bulma's incapacitating panic grew tenfold as she felt her feet start to slide, infinitesimally, but move nonetheless, and realized the ledge she was on was marble—fucking slippery when wet marble. Her hands turned into claws on the top ledge, trying to find some purchase that was not smooth, her fingers crying out in protest as she realized there was no way she could move from the position she was currently in without slipping off of the eight-story building she was currently clinging too!

_Oh Kami._

She was going to die. She was going to slip to her death and fall, all with the list of information in her pocket. She had accomplished her mission, but she had failed when it really mattered. She was stuck, probably not even ten feet from the man who could save her, and she could do nothing as it continued to pound down rain on her. Panic set in like lead in her belly, cold dread dripping down her spine as well as the cold rain drops as her thoughts began to crowd in on her, wondering what her family would do with her gone. They could barely survive with her here—who was going to take care of them if she died? And what about Vegeta?

_No! Not like this! I refuse to go out like this!_

As most of her began to already give up, that still strong voice, the one that made Bulma who she was, pushed through, louder than all of the others, and bitch-slapped her back into action. No—she was not going to go out like this. When she died, it would be on her time, at her choosing—not clinging to the side of a fucking building, or splattered all over the fucking sidewalk. Bulma closed her eyes for just a second to force the overwhelming black tide of panic back down, then opened them, a surging fire of energy in her belly as she thought about how not dead she was going to be at the end of the night. She was going to be so alive, she drink enough scotch her whole face would go numb and then she was going to screw the brains out of the guy waiting for her. Hell—she deserved it, didn't she?

_I can do this. _

_I will do this!_

Bulma thought her best option would be to wrap her arm in the material of her gown to punch through the glass, and she put her hands in her pocket, ready to cover as much bare skin as possible—hitting something solid.

_The key gun! _

Bulma let out a nervous laugh of happiness as she grasped it in her pocket, knowing she had found her salvation, inner warmth spreading through her from the fire in her belly. The blast would be small, but it would be enough to make a crack in the window, weakening it, making it easier to kick open if nothing else, bloody legs be damned. She would rather have scars and pain than death.

So Bulma pulled it out of her pocket, cocking the tiny gun. With her front still pressed to the side of the building, Bulma turned her head to aim the gun at the window, trying to calculate the best angle so she could get the most damage done with the small blast. As she went to pull the trigger though, the gun slipped out of her hand as the rain caused the cool metal to turn slippery in her already shaking hands.

Without thinking, Bulma lurched to grab the falling gun on instinct—and had the most unpleasant sensation she could ever remember having as she felt the hand she had been holding onto the ledge with lose its grip on the smooth, wet marble, grasping nothing but air as she lurched to the side. As she lost her holding, her footing was not far behind and Bulma literally felt her heart stop as she slipped off of the ledge, just in time to see Vegeta's panicked face as she fell past the window.

* * *

><p>Vegeta stared at the melting ice in his growingly more watery scotch, frowning into the amber liquid as he sat in the couch he had not left since Bulma had brought him his towels. <em>This was bullshit! <em>he grumbled mentally, _Complete and utter bullshit! _

Vegeta had been reduced to the role of cover story for another spy, all because of some stupid, Kami-damned list that might (or might _not_) have his name written on it. _This is beyond bullshit. _

Sure he had been forced to endure waiting before in the spy game (a spy who could not wait was a spy not worth his salt), and sure, he had even been forced to wait for others before as Nappa would complete a part of the mission he could not…. But he had never, ever, _ever_ thought in a million years that he would be forced to wait for Bulma as she pranced around the rooms of some of the deadliest assassins Russia had to offer, thinking about the million different things that could go wrong for her.

Or that it would cause his fists to clench hard as he sat there, _worried_ about her.

Worried! Like he was some mother hen, and she was his newborn chick. This was ridiculous! The Duke of Vegetasei did not sit around, in a hotel room, staring into a glass full of alcohol he had no intention of drinking, _worrying_ about some foolish woman, trying not to picture all that could go wrong, and just how many different ways she could be murdered.

Or even worse, he had never imagined he would be sitting here, thinking about his _feelings_.

Vegeta shivered from disgust as he thought the word, having been taught from a very young age that feelings were a weakness, something both his father and the dowager had impressed on him from a very, very young age. But it was either sit here and _worry_, or face the multitude of emotions and _feelings_ he had been going through ever since Bulma had crashed her way into his life. And yes, crash, he thought, was a very appropriate way to explain just what Bulma Briefs had done to him.

She had somehow wormed her way under his skin, in a way that was unexpected, and unwanted truth be told, seeping into his very consciousness, becoming as much of part of who he was as he was to himself. It went beyond irritable; it went straight to downright unbearable. What right did she have to force him to constantly think about her? To make him constantly want to touch her? To, oh hell, make him sit here, _worried_… about her! Vegeta had never worried about another human being before, much less another spy on a mission, in the entirety of his life. Well he had worried about one human being before and look where that had left him…but as for another spy? No. Never.

It was part of the game, of being a spy— you risked your life on pretty much every mission, no matter how innocuous it seemed. You thought it would just be a simple stakeout, and you would find yourself pressed to the side of a building, a knife pressed to your throat. That had happened to Vegeta more times than he could count, but he had never let it _worry_ him—he could fight. He was one of the strongest, if not the strongest, spies in all of England (hell, probably the world), and it would take more than a knife to his throat to have him, bleech, _worried_.

He had even encountered Nappa, or other spies he was forced to work with, with knives to their throats, guns to their heads, poison in their system and a multitude of other ways they could have died—and he had never felt nervous or panicked. Now, it was all he could do not to go barging into the room he knew Bulma was searching, dragging her out by that ridiculous wig on top of her head, taking her to one of the outermost Vegetasei properties (he was sure he owned something, a castle maybe, in the Outer Hebrides) and lock her away so she could never do something as foolish as this ever again.

Even if it was his own fault for ever involving her in the spying game. He should never have mentioned to Basil that she could speak more than one language. It all came down to that moment, that brief spark behind Basil's eyes as Vegeta told him that Bulma could speak a handful of languages…and Vegeta regretted it. Vegeta, who tried never to regret anything, was sitting here, awash with regret, feelings and worry. He tightened his grasp on the tumbler in his hand, feeling the cut of the glass press into his palm, sighing.

What was he going to do?

Well, right now, the answer was obviously nothing. He could do nothing but wait without endangering both Bulma and the mission. He had to sit here, trusting that she would do as she was told, and take no unnecessary risks. Though this was Bulma…what were the chances that she would not take an uncalculated risk? He let out a snort as he realized how slim that was. With Bulma, as he was coming to accept, nothing went according to plan, and it certainly never went as smoothly as possible. For instance, take two days ago…all he had meant to do was pass on Basil's missive. Instead, he had ended up taking her where anyone could have walked in on them. Had he even locked the door? Kami—he could not even remember. Now he was paying the price for that—he knew he had heard the dowager's cane, thumping away from them, and he could only sit in horror and wonder what she had heard.

The old bat probably thought that he was just completing the ridiculous mission she had set out for him, but still. The very last person he wanted to find out about him having an affair with Bulma was the dowager. If she knew, what would stop her from telling all of London society, ruining Bulma's reputation? Not a Kami damned thing that was what. And the dowager would not hesitate to tell everyone and ruin Bulma's reputation. The dowager knew (even if she did not know the reasons) that Vegeta could never marry, and so Bulma's reputation would find no reprieve in Vegeta doing the honorable things.

This, frankly, was causing an anxious spot to grow in his chest as he thought about how Bulma would feel, or how he would feel, when he knew he could not offer for her. He had never really experienced this feeling before, but he knew what it was. He was feeling _guilty_. _Guilty _that he could not be the man Bulma deserved.

Dammit! What the fuck was wrong with him?

All he wanted from the gel was an affair, pure and simple. He wanted to touch her, feel her, taste her, _and fuck _her, whenever he wanted. He did not want to feel _worried_ or worse _guilty_ about her, and he certainly did not want to probe his _feelings_ to see what they were hiding underneath it all.

Fuck. He just needed to stop this now.

She was becoming too much of a distraction, too much of a problem. That was why he had been so cold towards her earlier, because he was trying to put distance between what he felt for her, and making sure he had a good head on his shoulder for the mission. But even now, he could not stop thinking about her, and she was diverting him from his mission. This was dangerous, considering this was the closest he would probably ever be to completing what had turned into his opus morandi…. It was clear to him that what needed to be done. He needed to rid himself of her. He needed to stay away from her. She was bad for him. She was a distraction. She made him _feel_.

Well that settled that, then…

But did it really mean he would have to allow himself to not touch her ever again? To put on the mask of the ice-cold duke he wore around all others, but was beginning to believe he would be able to leave off around her for good? That thought made him as uncomfortable as thinking about how much she had changed him did—

_Tap, tap, tap. _

_Tap, tap, tap._

_Pound!_

_Pound! _

_Pound!_

_What the fuck is that?_ Vegeta was pulled from his thoughts that were growing increasingly more and more maudlin, looking around the empty suite for the source of the irritating sounds. Where was that sound coming from? What he just imagining it?

_Tap, tap, tap. _

Nope, wasn't imagining it.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

But if he was not imagining it, then where the hell was it coming from and what was it?

Vegeta waited until he heard it again, and stood, puzzled as he moved towards the front door. He surreptitiously opened the door, peeking out, frowning as he saw nothing but the empty hallways staring back at him, before closing it. As he did, he heard the sound of rain start, and he relaxed, not even aware that he had been tensing up at the implacable sound. It had probably just been the first few drops of rain on the roof, or something. Still, as he looked at the mantle, noting the time on the clock, he frowned. Bulma really should be getting back soon. Where was she? She knew how important timing was to this mission—he had made sure to stress that, over and over. And despite his wishes to the contrary, she was not an idiot, and she knew how much it meant to everything they were doing that she stay on the schedule he had laid out before she left.

He sighed, running his hands through his hair, going to sit back at the couch he had just vacated, waiting for Bulma to come waltzing back through the door she had left hours earlier.

_Pound! _

_Pound!_

_Pound! _

Okay, that was definitely not the rain. And it seemed to be coming from the room Bulma had been changing in. Vegeta instantly tensed up, before his bottom hit the padding on the couch, straightening his back as he stood back up. His shoulders were up to his ears as he grabbed the pistol he had been keeping at his side, wondering how _they_ had found him. He was not really sure who _they_ were, seeing as he had been a spy for most of his adult life, so _they_ could really be anyone, but he just feared _they _had finally found him.

Vegeta carefully walked to the closed door of the bedroom, keeping his back to the wall as he carefully pushed it open, before holding the gun in front of him as he entered the room, quickly scanning the dark room, the only light coming from a solitary candle that was partially obscured by the curtains covering the candle on the windowsill.

Nothing. No one. _How odd. _

Vegeta's frown turned into a snarl, and he put the gun on the table in the room, sighing as he caught the very familiar smell of Bulma, emanating from everywhere in this room. Hell. He had forgotten how wonderful she smelled….He could lose himself for hours in the smell of her, or tasting her, hours and hours of lazily running his tongue and nose up and down every curve and crevice of her body. They had made love twice now, but he had never really had the pleasure of exploring her body, of getting to know every inch of her with his hands, eyes, mouth, and tongue…

_Fuck_.

He needed to stop this line of thinking, immediately. It was not good for his health for one (how many cold baths could a man take before he died of hypothermia?), and it did not matter that he had never made love to her like that for two. He would _never_ make love to her. Like that, or otherwise…The rain grew louder and louder, pulling Vegeta away from his innermost thoughts, and Vegeta frowned, finally moving the curtains that covered the window and the candle, looking out into the rain. Only to feel his heart jump into his throat as he was greeted not with the sight of the soothing sigh of the rain—

But with Bulma, who was _slipping_ off of the ledge on the other side of the glass window.

* * *

><p>"You came. I did not think you were going to come tonight."<p>

Krillin gave her that smile that seemed to increasingly do odder and odder things to the cold, dead area where her heart should have been, sitting next to her on the stone bench she was currently occupying. "I said I would be here."

She frowned at him, stopping herself from reaching for him as she knew he was still shy. "I know, but I…." She stopped herself from revealing something, instead smiling at him, giving him that genuine smile she only ever really used with him. The seductress smile would only fluster him, or upset him since he knew why she used it on other men. Eighteen gulped, knowing that things were changing between them but just genuinely glad to see him and unable to stop herself from saying trite things with him. Mainly because they were true. "I'm happy that you came."

He blushed, the whole dome of his head turning red. "Me too. I'm sorry I was not at the last party… Goku challenged me to a fight and I ended up in bed with a cracked rib for three days."

She frowned, reaching out to touch his side without thought, not even noticing that he was turning an unhealthy shade of magenta from not only her touch, but the real concern shining on her face. "You are okay now? Why do you let him beat you like that?"

Krillin chuckled, and then groaned, the still healing rib protesting at the laughter. His hand automatically going to cover the sore spot, and, inadvertently, hers. "Oh don't make me laugh."

She pulled away, but left her hand until he gave it a squeeze and dropped it, cocking her head as she studied him, not realizing that the sight of her, her shoulders and neck bare to him, were the most arousing and romantic thing Krillin had ever seen.

Her voice was earnest as she told him, "But I did not say anything funny."

Krillin swallowed hard, focusing on those big blue eyes, ignoring the sounds of the party not that far from them, wishing it could really just be him and her. Maybe then he would have the courage to respond to her invitations…but not in the way she wanted. She wanted him for an affair, Krillin knew, frankly because she had told him— but Krillin, well, he…he loved her. He wanted her, not for a few nights, or a few months even—he wanted her forever. He wanted to protect that vulnerability she hid from everyone else, that still innocent part of her, he saw hidden in the depth of those baby blues, no matter how squalid her life had become…

"Not intentionally, no. But the thought that I let Goku beat me…hoh boy. I don't let Goku beat me. You don't let Goku do anything when he's fighting. He just does it. He's a really strong guy. The strongest I know."

Eighteen smiled, moving her blonde hair over her shoulder, satisfied that whatever tension there had been in his arrival was gone. It was back to them just being them now. She liked when it was like this, when they both could just smile and laugh. He was the only guy she could actually show her true self too—no need to be the distant ice queen, nor the cold temptress. She could just smile around him. She loved it.

She had told him all about her sordid past—all about how her brother had basically sold her off to the rich, elderly, disgusting, perverted Count who had saved their family lands in exchange for Eighteens virtue and ability to make him an heir when she was just seventeen. It seemed he was unhappy with the kids from his first marriage (they were spoiled, and they were not fit to inherit his title, his millions, his scientific corporation), and he wanted to make some more so he could disinherit those ones.

When he had died, all of his money going to his greedy heirs from his first marriage, since Eighteen was glad to say she had never borne the old man any children Eighteen had been left with nothing but the property he had entailed to her and a small amount of money. So she had found herself exchanging the only thing she thought she had to offer, her body, her company, to married (or single) aristocrats, who would pay for her to stay off of the streets, or the even more unfavorable whore houses. She was too high classed, too blue blooded to be called a courtesan, but Eighteen did not doubt that the only thing that had kept her off the streets these past ten years had not been her sparkling wit or the fact that her brother was a minor land baron.

But with Krillin, none of that mattered. Her past meant nothing to him, and he did not look at her and only see a woman who he could use for her body. It was a completely weird and unique experience, and one Eighteen wished she never had to give up….

Eighteen almost felt her heart stop when, after her and Krillin had been speaking for hours and hours (or it could have been minutes, she lost all track of time with him), an unpleasantly grating, and yet so familiar voice, broke into their conversation.

"Well, well. Widow Gero. I did not expect to see you tonight."

Eighteen instantly straightened, though her back was to the voice, and shot Krillin a look, desperately trying to convey her message of _leave, leave now_ to him, though he only stayed where he was smiling at the man over Eighteen's shoulder, oblivious to the high tension that was running through Eighteen as the seconds ticked on, and neither man moved.

Eighteen waited for a few more moments, hoping that Krillin would pick up on the messages she was trying to send to him, but her little oblivious idiot remained idiotically oblivious to her silent missives. Eighteen resigned herself to the fact that Krillin was not going to leave, and that right now, unfortunately, her little fantasy world, the one she had built with Krillin, was about to implode as it met with the persona she had kept going for the last decade. So she straightened herself, and stood, turning, making sure her mask was in place as she gave the man a sultry smile. Even if she wanted to do nothing more than to turn back to Krillin, to push him away, so he would not have to see her like this.

Eighteen turned towards the older man, seeing him in his usual pose, feet splayed wide, hands on hips with his elbows bent out. Eighteen knew this was his favorite position to stand in, mainly because it highlighted and emphasized how burly and brawny his barrel-like chest was. He was built like an ox, and should have been a good fighter (something Eighteen knew a lot about because she had grown up with her brother teaching her how to fight so he would have someone to spar with), but he was too bigheaded and sure of himself to ever prove a true challenge to a real fighter. Plus, he had a receding hairline that was only emphasized by his broad forehead and ridiculous curly black hair. His face was long and drawn out, and he wore the most bizarre style of facial hair that only served to make him look slightly clownish. His usual goofy appearance was even more absurd than usual since his nose was swollen, and slightly bent—as if it was broken.

"Lord Satan. I was not expecting you to be here, or I would have made sure to find you earlier in the night." Her voice came out in a purr, and though she was not facing Krillin, she could see him stiffen from the corner of her eyes. This is why she wanted him gone, she did not want him to see her like this…it intruded upon the time she was able to spend with him, the time she was able to feel…real.

The older man, pompous, with his ridiculous build, curly hair, and outlandish moustache, smirked at her. "Please, Widow, no need for formality around this…servant? Who is he?"

Krillin stood, waiting for her to introduce him, but Eighteen turned her back to him, waving Krillin off. "Oh him? He's no one. A footman of mine. Don't worry about him…." Eighteen looped her arm through the Earl of Satan's arm, hating herself, but knowing that around the aristocracy she had a game to play with these men. She was not fool enough to think that Krillin would stay by her side always, and she needed to make sure that before he went back to America, she would be ready to be back in the game. "He was just informing me of a broken wheel or something…."

She walked away, letting the old fool next to her chatter on and on about some indignity suffered by the American inventor that night, forcing herself to not look back, to not even glance over her shoulder, and hating herself from being unable to stop herself from looking over her shoulder as the rounded the hedge that would separate her from Krillin.

The look on his face one that would haunt her forever.

She had never seen such hurt, such betrayal—all directed at her, and especially not on Krillin's face. That was what made it worse. She had never wanted to hurt Krillin, but being who she was, how could she not?

* * *

><p>Vegeta's heart froze in that instant, in that moment of seeing Bulma's legs slip from under her, as she began to fall, as if in slow motion, backwards, off of the ledge, her mouth open in a surprised 'oh,' that he knew was seconds away from turning into a horrified scream. In that moment he admitted to one more emotion he had never really felt before, one more emotion he had sneered in others for feeling—<em>scared<em>.

Vegeta had never been this scared before, not when he had been captured by Frieza's forces, or when he had almost lost his life numerous other times, or when he had thought that the dowager had caught him and Bulma. He was _scared_ because he knew that a world without Bulma Briefs was not one he wanted to live in.

In that moment, he took a deep breath, blinking, forcing his body into action as he realized what he was seeing in front of him was not a mirage. It was Bulma about ready to fall off of the side of the building, her horrific eyes locking with his as the azure depths grew more and more…complacent. Like she was accepting this was the end, this was how she was going to die.

Not on his watch.

Without over thinking it, especially as he saw her body start to fall past where he could reach, Vegeta used both of his hands to punch through the glass in front of him, desperately reaching for where he had last seen her, praying that he was faster than gravity, praying to Kami, a deity he had long since given up hope on believing in. _Don't let her die—she can't die—I'm not ready for her to be gone from my life…_. As he desperately reached out for her, he felt an unnatural and almost unholy smile grace his face as his hands grasped around her ankle, feeling warmth and solidity as he snared that one part of her. He tightened his grip desperately, unthinking of how he might crush her ankle in his hand, only concerned about grabbing her…grabbing her before she was permanently gone from his life.

Bulma had distantly heard the breaking of glass as she fell, her life flashing before her eyes even as she kept eye contact with Vegeta, before she felt her body jerk against the brick of the building as something, something strong and iron-like wrapped around her ankle, stopping her from descending further in the free-fall she had been flailing herself through. She hit the side of the building, the breath knocking from her body in a loud oomph and she froze, clinging to the side of the building, even in her position, upside down, needing to feel solidity beneath her. When she realized that she was not going to die she peered up, through the rain, as she lost the wig that had been clipped to her head, the soggy weight gone, her dress falling so her knickers were bared to world, her eyes growing large as she saw Vegeta's familiar face looking down at her. His eyes were wide as he stared into her own eyes, holding her there for a minute as neither of them could speak.

As she began to shiver, uncontrollably, from the cold, from the shock, Vegeta seemed to realize where they were, and he called out, "I'm going to start pulling you up, back into the building. You need to cover your legs with your dress though, as I had to break through the window to grab you and I don't want you cutting any major arteries as I pull you through."

Bulma, unable to even open her mouth past the shivering, only nodded, and Vegeta started to tug her up, moving backwards as he pulled her back past the window, glad, not for the first time, at how strong he was. She weighed nothing, even soaking wet, but still, Vegeta was so damn glad it was him who had been here with her, rather than some other weakling who would have dropped her.

Once he got her up so she was back on the ledge, he moved his hands from her leg, to her waist, gingerly lifting her through the window, trying to avoid the jagged edges, uncaring of the own cuts he had made on his arms (more superficial scars to add to his litany of scars) as he pulled her back through the window, back onto solid ground. As she shivered, collapsing against him, Vegeta very mechanically, and without too much thought, stripped her of the sodden mess that were her clothes, leaving her in her damp slip and knickers, all while holding her up, even as she just stood there, without blinking, without moving. Only chattering.

He knew he should let her go, let her find her bearings, let her get changed into warm clothes, or a warm bath—but he was unable to stop himself from lifting her to him, holding her to his chest as he carried her to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as he curled her into him, into his warmth, holding her in his lap as she began to sniffle. Those sniffles did not last long, turning into tears, before the tears became great big gasping sobs. These were the big, heart breaking sobs of someone who had almost just lost their life and had faced their own mortality, one that Vegeta recognized from his time spent in the Navy. He was usually jaded to men (or women) who cried like this, wishing they would get it together…but with her…It made him so infinitely sad, he did not know what to do.

Well, that was not true. Vegeta knew what he _needed_ to do. He just did not want to do it.

He needed to let her go, needed to remember what he had said earlier of staying away from her— but he could not. Not in that moment. Not when he had almost lost her. That was all he thought, over and over again, _I almost lost you. I almost lost you, Bulma_. His mind was clear, his eyes wide, and he did not even move, other than to rub circles in her back as she continued to bawl into him, sobbing out the story of almost being caught and finding herself stuck outside of a locked window between great gasps of breath and tears, the front of his robe becoming as soggy as her wet clothes that sat on the floor of this room.

Bulma, held herself to Vegeta's front, uncaring of the amount of tears she was rubbing into the silk robe he was still wearing, just glad to feel something warm and solid beneath her. It was better than ground—it was Vegeta. He was warm, and he was alive, and she was alive, and he was just holding her, stroking her back and hair as she continued to cry into him, unable to stop herself.

She had almost died.

She.

Had.

Almost.

Died.

In those few seconds when she thought she was going to die, which could have been lifetimes from how long it felt like she was slipping, losing her balance, Bulma had lost all thoughts, all worries, instead just thinking _This is it. This is how I'm going to die. That sucks._ Now that she was safe, here, in Vegeta's arms, she just wanted to cry into him. She wanted to forget all about what had just happened, wanted to let go, wanted to cry into oblivion. She hoped no one ever went through what she had just gone through, because it went beyond life altering, it went beyond bat shit scary insane. Bulma had thought she had lost the rest of the long life she had always envisioned in front of her, thought that she was going to die at the ripe old age of twenty-two, with nothing more to show for it than a handful of inventions.

But no—she was here. She was still here, being held, comforted even, by one of the scariest men in all of England. He was being so kind and gentle with her, just holding her as she continued to cry in his arms, unable to stop, unable to make coherent sentences. She never wanted to leave the safety of his arms again. And it was the safety of his arms—she felt safe here. She _was_ safe here. She belonged here. In an instant she knew it was true. She more than belonged here—he belonged here with her. Everything they had been through had built up to this exact moment, just the two of them, emotions ripped bare as she sought comfort in his arms, and he gladly gave it…It was perfect.

She needed to let him know. She was done playing this push and pull game with him, done with hiding her feelings because she did not want to get hurt. She had almost died, and one of her last thoughts had been, "And Vegeta will never know that I care for him. That someone out there cares for him."

Because she did care for him. She cared for him, she wanted him, and she might even be at the point where she needed him. More than she ever expected to need him. And not just for sex, or an affair. She needed him forever— she needed to make him crack those rare smiles that seemed to exist only for her, she needed to hear that even rarer laugh of his. She needed to fight with him over the dinner table, then spend all night making it up to each other as they made love into the wee mornings. She needed him to be grumpy with the rest of the world, and then tell her what he was really thinking.

She simply needed him.

Without much preamble, other than stopping her tears, and wiping the moisture away from her face with the sleeve of the smooth material of the front of the robe he was wearing, Bulma stopped her tears, and, still grasping the lapels of Vegeta's robe, she hauled herself so they were nose to nose, her blue eyes latching onto his black ones as she met his for a second, taking a deep breath, before closing the distance between them. She met him, turning, twisting, so that she was tasting him, her mouth smashed to his, her tongue inside of his mouth before he could even blink, needing to feel the warmth of his kisses more than she had needed solid ground earlier.

She wanted _him_. She needed _him_.

Now.

He was here, and he was warm, and safe, and funny in his own way, and brave and a host of other things Bulma never thought she would call him when she had first met him. Her grief morphed then, grief at almost losing her own life, to need. Pure, unadulterated need, need to prove to herself she was alive, that she was not still tumbling out of the building, fantasizing before she met her untimely doom beneath her.

Her movements were heated, erratic, needy. When his own hands began to grasp at her back, she almost crowed with delight, feeling his tongue meet with hers, his hands entangled in her hair, pulling her to them. They fought for dominance of the kiss, Bulma's mouth and tongue fast and frantic, while Vegeta sought to soothe her with his own, though his passion was making his own kisses sloppier than usual.

This was what she wanted. This is what she needed. She needed him.

Bulma's hand were at the lapels of his robe, pulling it apart, sliding her hands underneath the fabric, dragging her fingernails down the solid chest that was Vegeta that was this enigmatic man who was more of a mystery to her than anything she had ever pondered while in the lab. She felt the soft, warm pliancy of skin over the solid steel of his muscles and her hands dipped further, going between them, reaching for that proof that he wanted her as much as she wanted him in that moment.

But as quickly as it began, as quickly as she had kissed him, wanting to absorb him into her body, Vegeta moved, surprising her, his hand lashing out and grabbing hers, stopping her.

Bulma's eyes popped open, and she looked into those black depths, almost falling back into heart-wrenching sobs as she saw the distance he was mentally putting between them, even as she still sat in his lap with nothing between them but some very thin clothes. As she saw the last barrier erect within him, his black eyes darkening, Bulma's heart stopped, before thudding to the bottom of her feet as he very deliberately stood, turning, depositing her on the bed, before he pulled away, turning his back to her without so much as a word.

She scrabbled so she was at the edge of the bed, still sitting, staring at him, facing him, as he moved further away from her, his back to her as he stared at the wall opposite where they had been sitting. She could see nothing in those moments but steely quiet, and Bulma began to shiver again, goose bumps dimpling her skin as the silence stretched between them.

"Vegeta?" Her voice was low, a whisper, but she knew he heard her because his back tensed for a moment, as he still stared at that damn wall.

What was going on? She had never thought in a million years that he would pull away from her right now. Especially when she needed him so much that breathing was becoming difficult the further away from her that he was. He said nothing for a few moments, and Bulma felt herself growing nervous for some reason, especially as the silence became tense, charged—and not in a good, sexy way, either. In an 'I feel like I'm drowning, and everything feels wrong' kind of way.

She felt herself begin to shake from the cold, and she looked over her shoulder, over to the window he had punched through to save her, frowning as she saw the carpet there was growing damp from the incessant rain that had almost ended her life. Bits of glass sparkled there, like stars in the night sky, and she looked back to him, trying to put the pieces together. Trying to understand what had switched through Vegeta to change him from the warm, willing participant of her kisses, to the dark shadowy figure that refused to answer her, who refused to meet her eyes. "Are you hurt from the window? Did I touch one of your wounds?"

Vegeta finally turned back to her, to finally look at her and she felt her heart plummet even further. She recognized that look he was giving her, a look she had not been on the receiving end of since she had posed as the shopkeeper when she had first met him. His face was completely devoid of all emotion, his eyes glittering and hard as he looked at her, like ice chips. "You should get dressed. We will be leaving soon, before the Ginyu Force start to come back."

Bulma looked at him, mouth agape, as she wrapped her arms around herself, unconsciously trying to keep herself warm from that sub-zero stare he was giving her. "I…I thought we were staying all night…." Yes—that had been the original plan, had it not? Had that not been one of the things he had said that had given her a sliver of hope and anticipation earlier in the night—imagining the two of them together, alone, in a hotel room, celebrating a job well done?

Vegeta's lips turned down, "Plans have changed. We have accomplished our mission, we are leaving." His hands clenched as she said nothing, and when he spoke next, he voice was as cold as the rainwater had been, dripping down her back, "You do have the list, don't you?"

Bulma frowned, pointing to the wet clothes. He gave a weary sigh, and reached for them, his hands in her pockets, pulling out the only slightly damp list. She sighed with relief, glad to see it had not fallen out when she had been upside down, or that the ink had bled through since it was wet, making her life-changing mission pointless. She shivered at that thought, but when she looked at Vegeta to see if he had noticed, he only stonily stared back at her, before unfolding the list, looking at it.

Bulma's spirits were crushed with that one look, and she felt herself grow more and more confused. She needed to take action; she needed to feel him underneath her fingers again. She stood to reach for him, but buckled back to the bed as the ankle he had grabbed her by folded underneath her. She expected to feel his warm arms around her, to hold her up, to try and protect her as she fell—but he did not, and she fell to the bed, ungracefully.

When she looked back to him, her hurt and confusion shining through her eyes, he only frowned deeper at her, his eyes seeming to grow even colder. "Pull yourself together, Bulma."

She glared at him, wondering what the hell had happened to him, what the hell had made him snap, what kind of switch she had flipped to make him so vastly different in the past few minutes. Had he been the one to almost lose his life a few minutes ago? What right did he have to be as emotional as she was? "I think my ankle is broken."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed, "Then we will seek medical attention for it in a little bit. A broken ankle is a small price to pay for playing at being a spy, is it not? Did I not tell you to turn the mission down?"

His words were harsher because of how he said them. She had heard the nickname he had earned among the Ton, that of the Dark Duke, but she had never heeded it. She knew he was dark and cold to the rest of the Ton, that he could excite feelings of terror in those that bought into the myths surrounding him, but she had never expected to see this side of him— so devoid of human emotion and empathy. "I did it for you, Vegeta." The words were there, said, so honest, so unable to be taken back, but she did not care. She meant them. She had taken this mission because she had feared that Vegeta's name had been on the list and that his life would be in danger. Even if she had not admitted that to herself until this moment.

Vegeta looked at her distastefully as she said this, shaking his head, and Bulma felt an inner chill that threatened to shake her apart at seeing him act so. He spoke as if she had not just said those words, his voice as blank as his face. "Get dressed. We are leaving."

He walked to move past her, to leave the room but some desperate part of her, that part that reminded her that she had almost died tonight, and that he had saved her, forced her to reach out, to grab for him. "Wait, Vegeta, I do not understand."

Vegeta frowned at her, but jerked his arm out of her hand, looking down his nose at her, "There is nothing to understand, Woman. I see no reason to continue that display you started earlier by kissing me."

Bulma's mouth dropped open, and her voice was small when she spoke next, unable to salvage her pride by not speaking. "Don't you want me?" She saw his lip curl, and she forced herself to speak louder, stronger when she said next, "This is your second question where you have to tell me the truth."

Vegeta stopped at that, freezing momentarily as he flicked his eyes over her shoulder to the open window of the room, before he looked at her again, "Why would I want what I already have had? You are nothing but used goods to me at this point." Vegeta took a moment, trying to think what would hurt her most, what would drive her the furthest away from him. "You are just some silly girl who has nothing to offer a man such as myself. Why don't you do us both a favor and go back to playing with your toys in your lab, since you are worthless as a spy, as we saw tonight?" She flinched at those words, and he tried to find some more vitriol to spit at her, but found he was tired. Too tired to put up with calling her names, hurting her, much longer. So he only said, "Now get dressed Bulma. We have things to do tonight."

With that he was gone.

Bulma sat, stunned, staring at the closed door he had just walked out through, wondering if it was possible to die from the way her heart was twisting in her chest.

The same night clerk who had checked the Duke of Vegetasei into the hotel was still on duty when Vegeta came back down, his face nuzzled in the woman by his side's neck as they walked over, and whispering sweet nothing in her ear. She was mightily attractive, the blonde, but he would expect nothing less than from the most infamous Duke in all of England.

Still, he was surprised to see them—he had been sure when they had disappeared up to their room together, all cozily wrapped around each other that they would not surface for air for days, or at least until morning. At least they had the look of people who had recently tupped, their cheeks red, the woman resting most of her weight on the Duke as he walked up to the counter.

The Duke's eyes briefly met with the clerk's, his voice deep when he spoke. "The rooms were satisfactory, but my companion has very peculiar tastes," the woman giggled at that, and the clerk had to force himself to not look at her again, lest he receive another glare from the Duke (he still shivered at the one he had been on the receiving end of earlier) forcing himself to only stare at the Duke as he continued, "So we are heading elsewhere."

The clerk swallowed, knowing that his manager was not going to like this, but if came between the Dark Duke and his manager, he knew who he would rather be on the bad side of—so he only nodded.

The Duke surprised him though, by reaching into his pocket and extracting a few hefty notes, passing them to the surprised clerk. "This should be satisfactory enough to cover any of the damages you have to pay for, as well as to buy your silence in the matter…."

The clerk took the notes, wordlessly, wondering what sort of 'damages' the couple had inflicted upon the room, and felt his curiosity only grow stronger as he saw them walking away, noticing that the woman was limping slightly as she moved, and if he were not mistaken, as her skirts swished around her feet… that she had no shoes on.

Well—he could only speculate what had transpired between them in the room, but speculate he would….

* * *

><p>AN: Quick note about Eighteen's circumstances. As a woman in Victorian England, there were not many choices for how to financially support oneself—over half the 'prostitutes' that Jack the Ripper killed were really school teachers/governesses who could not find work and had to turn to alternative means to pay their bills. I tell you this, so that you know Eighteen was not a prostitute by any means, and I mean for her to be empowering. She took one of the only choices available to her to keep her lifestyle up and still keep her independence—she did not run back to her brother to live with him, and she did not turn to being a prostitute. She's chosen her partners, and she stays with them for as long as _she_ wants. Sorry if this is a little rant-y (oh goodness, there she goes, making up words again), but as I was writing it I just really wanted to make sure you guys would try not to judge her too much.

Thanks for reading—feedback about the chapter would be appreciated!

Until next time—love you all!


	25. The Women

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did…Oh man. Seriously guys—that would be awesome.

Warnings: None this chapter. Weird.

A/N: So I can't believe it's almost been a month between postings. Yikes! Time flies and all that good and fun stuff—but never fear. This story has not been forgotten about. First off, I wanted to thank everyone for their extremely kind and awesome reviews for the last chapter. I was so afraid I was going to post it, then lose all of you guys completely when I had Vegeta reject Bulma—but no. You guys understood that it made sense for Vegeta as a character, and were so great with your reviews. Honestly—you guys are all the best. I mean that from the very bottom of my heart.

As for this chapter…well, it's actually more of a half chapter. One of the shortest one's I've posted for a long time. There's a reason for that—this chapter is totally spontaneous, thought of and written in about two days (which also means no beta this chapter…I apologize in advance). Its not part of my original story outline…but it hit me, and I felt like it was necessary. Especially when I realized I have almost zero interaction between my female characters—so no men this chapter!

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Women

Bulma was in the process of writing a long list of components she would need for her working model of the steam-powered engine she had been slaving over when one of the Vegetasei footman tapped on her room. Bulma, chewing on the end of her pencil mumbled, "Enter," expecting her lunch to be brought in and left on the table behind her, like it had been on the past week. Instead the footman surprised her by walking over to the desk she was working on, presenting her with a card on a silver platter.

Bulma frowned first at the proffered card, and then at the man himself, knowing full well that the staff were under orders not to take anyone's cards meant for her, to only tell them that she was not receiving. It was not as if this was a new order either. She had not been receiving (or seeing other humans for that matter) ever since she had come back from the Regency—almost a week ago at this point.

Thankfully it was not seen as being rude, especially in light of her injury. The sprained ankle she had gotten from where Vegeta had grabbed her to drag her back into the building had proven to be her saving grace from having to go anywhere or see anyone. Though the story about how the ankle had been sprained was made up (everyone thought that the ankle had been sprained when she had slipped down some stairs—which mortified her since Bulma considered herself extremely graceful), the sprained ankle itself was extremely real. She had been seen by a doctor that next morning and told that she was not supposed to walk on it much, or at all really without the lovely (bleech) cane he had given her, for the next few weeks. It worked in her favor though, especially as Bulma had no true desire to leave her room anytime soon.

That night after Vegeta had unceremoniously dumped her back in front of Saiyan Hall—taking off to heavens knew where—Bulma had crawled into her bed, bawling her eyes out as she thought of not only how she had almost lost her life, but also how Vegeta had been so mean to her. She had known he was a pitiless man, she had seen flashes of it—she just never thought that such cruelty and vitriol would be directed at her, especially not from him. She thought things were different with them—that they were beginning to have a connection, a real one, that…well…that meant something to both of them. Shows what she knew.

So she had given herself that night, that one night, to really, truly cry her heart out. Her eyes and face had gotten puffy and swollen, her whole body aching with the exertion of the sobs that racked her body. Then she had fallen asleep—and when she had woken up she had fought herself (really fought herself) to get up from the bed after the doctor had come to see her, leaning heavily on her new cane as she made her way out of her bedroom. That was as far as she got. Leaving her room and sitting room were completely out of the question. She had to stay in there. She could not face other human beings right now.

It had been a tough few days, really forcing herself not to sink into any sort of depression or to allow herself to become _that_ woman who could not leave her bed, but so far she had been doing incredibly well by her own estimates. She worked. She worked hard—and she did not allow herself anytime to stop working. Even when she was working she felt her emotions heave and change if she gave herself a second too long to think of anything but her engine.

When she got in bed at night, she tried to be exhausted enough that she would just pass out, but there would be an inevitable few moments where her thoughts would stray from work or sleep. They were erratic at best, incoherent usually. She vacillated between extremely angry at Vegeta for daring to talk to her like that, to extremely sad when she thought about the venom behind his words. It was not helped that he had been gone ever since that night, the only thing that Bulma had heard being that he had been called to one of his further land holdings for a few days. She wavered on her feelings on that as well—she was glad he was gone, too mortified to imagine facing him, then she was mad at him for running so she could not confront him, then sad when she realized that she partially wanted to confront him so she could ask him why she was not good enough for him.

Since she had been such a basket case of emotions, Bulma had considered it best for everyone to stay holed up in her room and not see anyone else. Hence the not receiving any visitors thing. But now, here was a footman presenting her with a card. Bulma only glowered at the man, wondering if he was new or slow, leaning towards the latter when her glare did not have him immediately stepping away from her. Bulma continued to look daggers at the man, and flicked her cane dismissively at the doorway he had just entered from. "Tell them I am not receiving."

The footman nodded, but gulped, still holding out the card. "I know mum, but your mother insisted that I present the card to you."

Bulma's voice turned less than lady-like as she screeched, "My mother?"

The footman only nodded, and Bulma sighed, grabbing the card off the tray and dismissing the man before stomping out of the room, into the upstairs sitting room her mother occupied when she was not downstairs receiving. The cane really added to her anger nicely, Bulma thought as it thumped along the floor of the hallway, but it did present the problem of making it impossible to sneak up on anyone. Not that a sneak attack would do her any good when it came to her mother. Bunny was not deviously minded enough to prepare for battle.

Indeed, when Bulma stomped her way into the room her mother was sitting in, Bunny was sitting there with her back to the window, humming as she worked on some needlepoint, smiling up at Bulma as she came in. "Oh hello dear. Glad to see you up and out of your room. Did you receive the visitor downstairs?"

Bulma plopped down on a seat, her wounded leg already elevated when she crossed her arms, a scowl on her face. "No. You know I am not receiving anyone."

Bunny tutted, looking back down at her needlepoint as if Bulma had never entered. She hummed for a few more seconds, and then she continued talking, "That is a shame, Bulma. I thought you would see the name and be as intrigued as I am as to why she is calling on you."

Bulma opened her mouth to say something about not caring if the Queen of England herself was downstairs right now, but then her natural curiosity got the better of her and Bulma flipped the card over, reading aloud. Her voice was tinged with disbelief as she read, "The Dowager Countess of Red Ribbon?" She looked back up at her mother, her mouth hanging open, "Widow Gero? She's here?"

Bunny nodded, though she did not take her eyes off of the green thread she was currently pulling through a pattern of a flower's stem. "Mmhmm."

Bulma took to flipping the card over, again and again in her hand, as she wondered aloud. "But I thought she never called on anyone? Or that she had any women friends for that matter. I thought she never went out for tea time."

Bunny bit off a piece of thread, tying it before looking up at her daughter. "Indeed, my dear. The rumors around her place her as everything from a courtesan to a cold-hearted recluse who killed her own husband for his money." Bunny waited a calculated beat before continuing, "She must be a very intriguing woman to say the least. Especially with so much gossip surrounding her."

Bulma frowned again, muttering to herself mainly, "Yes…very intriguing indeed." Her voice got even softer as she continued, "What is she doing here then?"

Bunny smiled at her daughter having heard every word Bulma had just been muttering to herself. Bunny rarely missed anything, especially if it was being whispered around her. "Only one way to find out." Bulma looked at her, eyebrow raised, and Bunny made a shooing motion with her hand, "Why don't you go ask her?"

Bulma met her mother's triumphant eyes, and glared back though she knew that it would take much more than a stern look to ding Bunny's happy exterior. "You're trying to get me to be social again, aren't you?"

Bunny shrugged nonchalantly as she reached for the next color thread she would need. "I only know that you need to leave your room before you become that deranged girl who never leaves it who we all read about in those gothic novels." Bunny added silently to herself, _I also know that you cannot resist solving a mystery_, before she continued. "Now go see what she wants, before she gets tired of waiting and leaves."

Bulma stood with the use of her cane, and turned away conflicted, before she turned back to her mother, frowning. "Did you invite her here?"

Bunny snorted, already threading the newest color into her needle, not even bothering to look at her daughter as she answered. "Do you think the Widow Gero would respond to a summons from me? Please. Now go—and don't be rude."

Bulma held her head up haughtily, and turned in a huff, muttering to herself, "As if I could ever be rude…."

Bunny only smirked into her needlepoint, pretending not to hear that. That was the thing about having amazingly acute hearing—you had to know when to use it, and when to pretend to be as oblivious as everyone thought one was.

* * *

><p>Bulma knew about the Widow Gero—she had seen her at society events, and she had heard the whisperings about her—so Bulma knew that the woman was beautiful. So she could not deny it was pure vanity that stopped Bulma from heading straight downstairs, going to her room instead and changing into one of her nicer day dresses, and touching up her hair before she continued to the yellow sitting room.<p>

When she walked in the Widow was already sitting, stiffly (but primly) in one of the high-backed chairs that faced the window that showed the back gardens of Saiyan Hall. She was intently watching the outside, her eyes trained on the gardens as if she was waiting for somebody. Before Bulma could ponder that, the Widow Gero stood when realized Bulma had entered the room, ending her solitude. The women greeted each other before Bulma rang for some tea, the pair of them awkwardly sitting back down. They exchanged small pleasantries, all the time the pair of them examining each other as they spoke about the weather and a ball they had both attended, before they fell into a stilted silence as the tea was delivered.

Bulma looked at her, really looked at her, as the Widow looked at the tea service (rather intently), unable to deny the other woman's beauty. She was the opposite of Bulma—she was a real English rose, even if she was a little tall. She was slim, and delicate looking, her blonde hair and blue eyes adding to her cold beauty, Bulma frowning at that thought. Cold beauty might be the best way to describe this woman. She reminded Bulma, in certain ways, of Vegeta—she wondered if the two had ever met.

Bulma waited until the maid left before she poured them both tea, serving as she had always been taught. As the Widow daintily took a sip from her cup, Bulma did the same, before putting the cup down. Maybe it was because she had been out of human society for the past few days, or maybe it was because she was an impatient woman who saw no reason to have her society mask on around the Widow, but either way Bulma could not stop herself from bluntly asking, "So, why are you here?"

To her credit, the Widow waited until she finished putting her tea down, before blinking those large blue eyes at Bulma. "I am here to see you. I have heard much about you, and I grew curious. Especially after your extended absence from society. I see that the details of a sprained ankle were not exaggerated," the Widow added as she waved her hand in the general direction of Bulma's cane that was resting on the side of the couch Bulma was currently occupying. "I hope you have a speedy recovery. Society does not know what to do with itself when its incomparable is not at any events."

Bulma's lips turned down at the Widow's words, ignoring the attempted change of subject, as she crossed her arms. "They will survive. They have made it before I showed up, and Kami knows they will continue to survive long after I have gone." The Widow inclined her head, and Bulma pressed on, unable to stop herself from being so forward. Something about how cool this woman seemed—it irked her. Bulma wanted to ruffle the woman's feathers, to get some emotion out of the woman. How could anyone be so emotionless? Did her and Vegeta have a support group about how to be a human being made of stone? "I would say that I am honored by your curiosity, but we both know you are not here to see me."

The Widow's lips flattened into a thin line, but to her credit nothing else changed about her appearance. Even her voice was still melodic as she answered. "Oh? How do you presume to know all this?"

Bulma gave the woman a smirk, extremely grateful for her keen powers of observation. They had yet to fail her. "Well, your eyes are constantly drawn to the window over my shoulder, and every time the door opens you stiffen all the more—in anticipation I would say. Every time you hear footsteps approaching the door, you perk up, and if I'm not mistaken, your eyes are constantly being drawn to the far left of the window—towards the stables. You are waiting for someone to arrive, I would think." Bulma stopped for a second, seeing the denial already on the Widow's tongue, not giving her the chance as she continued, "We have never met before, and neither of us has anything the other can offer. It is not as if you are here trying to save a business for a brother or other relative, and you are not calling on me on behalf of any other male you associate with. Now why don't you tell me the real reason you're here? If it's not to see me, who are you here for?"

The Widow drew her hand across her forehead, smoothing her bangs, buying herself a second before she turned back to Bulma, ice blue eyes meeting azure ones as she said, "You're right. I am not here for you."

Bulma chuckled, leaning back in her seat as she smirked in satisfaction. "I figured as much. Why don't I save us both some time and go get the person you really want to see?"

The Widow's eyes grew slightly larger, and she cocked her head, examining Bulma with newfound interest. "You are not who you pretend to be, are you? Or are all Americans as blunt as you?"

Bulma laughed, smiling at the woman. "A little of both, I would think."

The Widow gave her a small, tight, very controlled smile. "It is a shame neither of us seems to be looking for female friends—I think we could have gotten along in another life."

Bulma was taken aback by the woman's own bluntness trying to imagine her and the Widow as friends. She had already tried to help someone with a heart of ice to thaw out some, and look how that had worked out for her. Still, she was not unkind, nor completely untruthful as she answered, "I think you might be right. But enough beating around the bush. Who are you really here to see?"

The Widow scrutinized Bulma for another moment, in silence, and Bulma saw a slight pink spread across the tops of the Widow's cheeks becomingly. It would seem contrived on anyone else, but on the Widow, who liked to have herself completely in control at all times Bulma knew it was a genuine blush. Interesting—very interesting.

Bulma could almost hear the internal battle the woman was having with herself in the chair over there, about whether or not she could really trust Bulma with knowing who she really wanted too, and she saw the woman reach a decision—and Bulma knew that whoever the Widow was about to ask for, she was lying. Not that that surprised Bulma much—the Widow reminded her of Vegeta, someone who had been so closed off from real human interaction for such a long time, that they did not trust easily. Or at all.

The Widow's hand traveled over her bangs again as she spoke. "I need to speak to your chef. I'm throwing a party for a visiting Scottish lord, an old friend of my husbands, and I need to know what I should make for them in celebration of their arrival."

Bulma stared at the Widow, tilting her head and giving her a disbelieving look that clearly said that Bulma knew she was lying. She gave the Widow a few moments to change her mind, to tell Bulma the truth, but when she did not, Bulma rose from her chair with the help of the cane, nodding her head. "I will go fetch her myself."

Bulma left the room, making her way to the kitchen. She could have very easily rang for the cook, but she needed a few minutes to herself to think about the interesting conundrum sitting in her sitting room. Who was the Widow really here to see? Why even both with the niceties of seeing Bulma—could she not just visit whomever she wanted?

Unless…

Bulma frowned at her line of thinking, knowing that the only reason the Widow could have wanted to see Bulma would be because the person she really wanted to see would be a person she could not call on. Not only that, but she would call on Bulma specifically since whoever the Widow was really here to see had a strong chance of being with or even just around Bulma. So in other words—she was looking to speak to a male. A male connected to Bulma in some way, and if Bulma were a betting woman, she would have to say the Widow was looking for Goku. Bulma frowned at that thought, wondering what the Widow would want with her brother, but she could not dwell on it long as she was already outside the kitchen door.

As she was about to knock alerting the staff to her unusual presence (an unnecessary gesture, especially since the cane had been particularly loud on the wooden steps), she recognized the voices of a couple of maids chattering, the one of the woman who had just served their tea louder than the rest. Her hand was stilted as she realized the women were gossiping so loudly that they had not even heard Bulma approaching—which of course caught her interest about what the hell they were gossiping about that was making them oblivious to all around them.

"I am not lying! The Widow Gero is upstairs herself!"

"The Duke's old mistress? Core blimey—what is she doing here? Looking to start up with the Duke again?" Some tittering followed, and some unnecessary cat calling followed that.

A younger voice spoke next, sounding confused. "Why would she come when he's not here then if that's what she wanted?"

"Oi, who understands these rich types! Maybe to leave a pair of old knickers on his bed, waiting for him?"

There was some giggling at that, but then another voice chimed in, "Maybe she's looking to exact some revenge on him for breaking things off with her?"

Some murmurs of agreement, others of dissent. "Nah—that's not what the rumors say about her. They say she's as cold as ice, always looking for the next mark to keep her in riches. She should know that once the Duke's dropped her he won't be picking her up again."

More agreement, then the first maid's voice again. "What if she's already picked out her newest benefactor and she's here to try and get a glimpse of him?"

"Who would that be then?"

Another scoff, "That's fairly obvious—it's the Viscount she's after now, isn't it?"

There was a clattering of pans that stopped all of the gossiping, and the rest of the maids fell silent as one of them quietly spoke, nervous, "Oh, uh, Chi-Chi…we were just…we were just…."

The Scottish brogue of the cook was even more pronounced when she started yelling at them, her voice coming in loud and clear even through the solid wood door. "YOU WER' JUS' CHITTERIN' LIKE A BENCH OF HENS, WASTIN' ME TIME! BACK TO YER DUTIES, THE LOT OF YE! NOW!"

Bulma, who had heard the whole exchange, felt her eyes growing wide as she processed what she had just heard. The Widow was Vegeta's old mistress? She had just spent the last ten minutes sitting across from a woman that Vegeta had been…intimate with?

No wonder Vegeta did not want someone like Bulma if he usually went after those like the Widow. Bulma was many things, but a cool, delicate beauty was not one of those things. She was emotional, and warm, and…well, still beautiful, there was no doubt about that—but she was not Vegeta in female form and could never be. Bulma felt a gnawing at her stomach she could not place, and she frowned as she rubbed the spot absentmindedly as she tried to imagine Vegeta holding the Widow in his arms as they made love, the pair of them silent, cool, reserved—nothing like Bulma.

Bulma gulped, ignoring the itching of her eyes that usually heralded tears, instead pushing the door open, her head held high. She was glad to see that only Chi-Chi was standing there, and she was furiously chopping what looked to be the remains of an already extremely chopped potato, muttering to herself. " 'E would never go fer her type anyways. 'E wants a real girl. Not a block o' ice."

She turned when Bulma cleared her throat, immediately dropping into a curtsy as she saw who was standing there, "Yes mum. How can I help you?"

The Scottish brogue seemed to be toned down right now, and Bulma smiled at the woman, trying to put her at ease with the comforting smile. She had only met her a few times, but she knew Goku could always come down here and leave with whatever food he wanted to. So Bulma liked the woman simply because she was good to her brother. But maybe, with the way she was acting right now, and the way she always gave Goku food…maybe there was more to it than a nurturing cook trying to make sure her charges were always fed.

Bulma gave the woman a placating smile, "If you would be so kind as to accompany me upstairs. The Widow Gero has a few questions about you and your cooking."

Chi-Chi's eyes grew larger, but she dropped into another bobbed curtsy, "O' course mum."

Bulma led the woman upstairs, ignoring the throbbing of her protesting ankle and the offered hand Chi-Chi gave her when she saw Bulma leaning heavily on her cane. Bulma did give her a smile for the kind gesture though (adding another tally in the cook's favor), before she opened the door to the sitting room. The Widow was extremely polite and pointed with her questions as she spoke to Chi-Chi, asking what dishes were best served this time of year and how to instruct her chef to make them. Chi-Chi answered every question quickly and quietly, nothing at all like she was downstairs with her boisterous voice and noisy pan throwing. Bulma observed the cook as she stared at the refined woman across from them both, taking her in as well.

She was also pretty—different than both Bulma and the Widow. She had dark eyes and dark hair, giving her an exotic look, and there was a lot of strength hidden beneath the shapeless gown Chi-Chi wore. Bulma found herself intrigued by this woman as well, though she frowned as she followed Chi-Chi's gaze back to the Widow. As she looked at the Widow with the new knowledge of her being a former lover of Vegeta's, Bulma had to fight to not bare her teeth to this woman in a primitive challenge.

The women downstairs said that it was over between the pair—but what if it was not? What if there was still some sort of assignation between them? Bulma felt herself grow irrationally angrier as the Widow sat there, so calmly, so coldly, asking her questions and listening to the answers. She could not imagine Vegeta and the Widow together. Ever. Where would the passion be? Where did the fire come from? Did the two of them just spend the night away, whittling away at the other's icy exterior?

Where was the fun in that?

Finally, when Chi-Chi gave all of her answers, she bobbed a final curtsy, ready to flee. Bulma stopped her though, "Could you wait a second for me? I have a few questions I need answered about the next week's menu."

The Widow stood, grabbing her shawl and reticule as she smiled at Bulma. "Well, now that I've gotten what I've wanted, I really must be off."

Bulma stayed seated, glad for the excuse of the cane as she flashed an unfriendly smile at the Widow. "Of course. Thank you for your visit. If you ever are in the area again, I hope you would considering stopping by…to visit me. Of course."

The Widow's eyes gave an icy sparkle, and she gave Bulma another clipped smile. "Of course, Miss Briefs. Good day to you both."

Then she was gone.

Bulma frowned at the doorway the Widow had just exited through, before she shook her head, facing Chi-Chi. She was not surprised to find that the other woman was watching her, eyes wide with curiosity. When she caught Bulma's eyes, Chi-Chi boldly asked, "You have some questions mum?"

Bulma shook her head, motioning for Chi-Chi to take the seat across from her. Bulma was not surprised when the other woman shook her head, declining, standing as she twisted her hands in her apron. Bulma did not take offense to the woman's strict propriety, instead leaning on her cane as she sat forward in her seat. "What did you think of the Widow Gero, Chi-Chi?"

Chi-Chi's face closed off, emotions wiped from her visage as she said, "Very regal."

Bulma nonchalantly reached for a cookie, taking a small bite before she spoke. "Regal is one way to describe her. I might say cold, but I understand my station affords me a bit more freedom when it comes to speaking about other's of my class." Chi-Chi gaped at her, but Bulma continued as she wiped some crumbs from her chin, "Quite the opposite of someone like my brother, though, right?"

Chi-Chi's cheeks grew red, and she started to stammer, "Oh—Aye w-w-wouldn't ken…uhm…oh…uhm."

Bulma took another nibble, before placing the cookie down, smiling back up to the cook. "Do not worry yourself Chi-Chi. I am not asking for your opinion, truly. I am merely pointing out that it would be someone who did not know the Viscount very well who would ever think he and the Widow would make a good pair, don't you agree?"

Chi-Chi blinked once. Twice. Three times. Then a smile grew on her face. "Aye. Someone who did not ken him at all. Someone would have to think yer brother was a completely different person to want to be…friends…with the Widow."

Bulma smiled, "Good. I'm glad to see we are on the same page about my brother." The pair of them smiled at each other for a moment before Bulma stood, leaning on her cane as she walked past Chi-Chi. "Can you please inform the staff downstairs to set me a place at the supper table today? I think my ankle is well enough to make the trip one more time tonight and would like to eat tonight with my family."

Chi-Chi nodded, and Bulma smiled as she walked past the woman and out of the room, shaking her head, chuckling to herself. Oh there was no doubt about it—the cook had it for Goku, and she had it bad.

Bulma could only wonder what her clueless brother thought of the situation….

* * *

><p>AN: So what did you guys think? I apologize again for spelling/grammar errors. I'm extremely tired but I wanted to get this posted for you guys. I love you that much!

Fair warning—I'm about to move…8,280 miles away from where I currently live. So while I am continually writing this story, I'm sure it will take me a while to calm down and have internet at my new apartment and all that good stuff. So I will try and update as much as possible in the next few weeks before I leave, but I wanted to warn you there might be some gaps. I promise to make it up to you guys when I can! Just stay as awesome as you always do and I will continue to write!


	26. No Girls Allowed!

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did…Trust me when I say there would be whole saga's dedicated to Bulma and Vegeta's relationship.

Warnings: Cussing! (Phew, back to normal) '

A/N: So I've made it to my new county/place and am settling in—so yeah! That should mean more regular updates…but you know how that goes. Anywhoo—thank you to all of my awesome readers/reviewers for being so damn awesome all the time. You guys are really understanding and I love that. Also, this chapter is for all of you who were asking where Vegeta was last chapter…

Lilpumpkingirl, you have managed to still be an amazing beta, no matter how much or little I throw at you at a time. Keep it up!

Also, also—one last shameless plug. I had a request from one of my reviewers last chapter for a story idea, and I just wanted to direct you guys to my (random ass) tumblr where I have a lovely ask box which I leave open specifically for others to leave me ideas/words/songs/whatever that I can turn into a drabble or story. Find it at [ ] .com[/]ask

All right! On to the boys!

Chapter Twenty-Five: No Girls Allowed

Vegeta, despite the distance he had put between Bulma and himself, was not having any easier of a time than she was (not that he knew this, what with being on the other side of the country and all). Yes, he had been the one to build up a large wall between them, and yes, he had been the one who had been unkind to a woman who had almost lost her life (a woman who he was finding it harder and harder to deny he had some sort of feelings for). But he was finding it hard to keep his mind off of her even at Saiyan Castle (he did have one!) near the Scottish borders. So he occupied his days and nights with anything and everything, but the woman herself. During the day, he rode his grounds, visiting the tenants who lived on his large estate, helped with maintenance of the tenants properties, checking on crops and livestock, and whatever other manual labor he could do to occupy his hours when the sun was up. He caught up on his own property, on the politics of the region, and generally did what a real Duke (who was not also a spy) did.

His nights were full of working out the problem of Zhelonie and Frieza. He had kept up correspondence with Basil, and the list that Bulma had provided had undoubtedly saved many lives. The men and women whose name and aliases had been compromised were now either under the guarded protection of the crown, or they were moved somewhere where they would be safe. Vegeta frowned as he thought about those two options—neither was appealing to him (or anyone who had enjoyed the freedom of being a spy, really) and he was thankful, not for the first time, to see that his name was not on the list. Never mind the fact that he had put himself in a self-exposed exile these last few weeks. It came down to the fact that he could return whenever he wanted.

Not that returning to London was all that appealing. Recently it seemed to hold nothing for him but headaches and unanswered questions—which is why he had ridden Thunder for two days until he had gotten to the farthest away Vegetasei property that was in England proper. So he could think in peace. He could have crossed the English Channel to the continent, and go to his many estates and holdings there as well, but that was a bit extreme in his opinion…especially as the whole spy game had been kicked up a notch the second Bulma found that very real list of spies.

When they had found the list, they had all but confirmed that Frieza was indeed on English soil, putting a huge chunk to the piece of the puzzle in also confirming who the Ginyu Force really was. In his correspondence to Basil, he learned that they had allowed the acting troupe to move on, but they were now under closely guarded watch, all of their reporting's heading straight back to Basil, who would then tell Vegeta what he could. Even knowing who the Ginyu Force was, though, did not help them find Frieza. London was an extremely easy place to disappear into, and Frieza had taken full advantage of this in choosing to come during the busy Ton season. But still—they were close! Knowing who the Ginyu Force was, and that they were indeed passing messages to Frieza—it was like they had two very vital clues. Not that it mattered since they were missing the step that tied these two clues together. Frieza was in London, and had corresponded to the Ginyu Force…through Zhelonie. But who was Zhelonie?

Vegeta could not help but come back to that one question, over and over. Forcing himself to think over every last person he had met during the season. Or to the seasons before, to recall every bit of gossip he had gleaned through Bulma (or, unwittingly, through listening to her mother's prattle—for being an airhead, she sure knew a lot about other people's businesses), to even just every French sounding name he could recall. He wrote lists and lists of possible names, crossing names out, rewriting them again, then crossing them out again. It was like everything boiled down to that one question.

Vegeta could not help but feel that if they solved who Zhelonie was, that everything else would snap into place. Or, it could be that Vegeta hated being outsmarted—and he was currently being outsmarted by this figure, who flaunted being a spy in public. The problem with Zhelonie was that they knew he was there, that he was able to get into the Ton's balls, opera's, musicales—any events he wanted to, really—but they did not know who he was or how he was doing it. And Vegeta had a sneaking suspicion that Zhelonie knew that they knew he was there. How could he not be aware that he was being searched for? He probably delighted in being looked for but not being caught—which made him extremely dangerous. He was a masked agent at the moment, and he could have the most secretive information being unwittingly spilled in front of him, all because Vegeta could not figure out who he was.

Vegeta found this task consuming him, overcoming him to an unhealthy degree, even as he went about Saiyan Castle, on this lordly duty or that ducal duty. He wrote down everything he could think of, even if he was in the middle of breaking the newest Vegetasei stallion, and would later pin it up in his secret study as soon as he could (of course he had one here as well, he could very well not leave things out for the staff to find). His wall was covered with dirty scraps of papers, napkins, other reports he had written on the back of, all with clues as to who Zhelonie was. He would spend hours every night rearranging it, changing it, pulling things down, putting them up—looking for that elusive answer.

He knew he feverishly wrote Basil, and absorbed any information from him the second he received it (which was few and far between—he was in his furthest away estate, and even on the fastest horses, from here to London it was a two day trip), never letting his mind stop. Even in the middle of the night, he would find himself bounding from his bed, writing down that new piece of information his brain had grasped hoping it would help answer his unanswerable questions.

He was being more fanatic about this than he had been about most of his other spy duties (he could not say all…he knew there was at least one task he was/would be more fanatical about than this one, or anything else in his life for that matter) but there was a very good reason for that. Simply if he stopped what he was doing, he would find his mind straying to that other bit of niggling information he wish he could forget about—namely, Bulma Briefs.

He could not, and would not let himself mope about or think about her. He had made the decision to cut her out of his life, and he would stick to that decision with all of his might. He knew he had made the decision for the best of reasons, and that any sort of attachment would be foolish on his part. So why then…why did he find himself remembering how soft her hair was? Or just how sweet her lips were? And why, for heaven's sake, did his chest seem to hurt when he remembered how she had looked when he had looked her in the eyes and told her he did not want her?

But before he could ponder those questions too deeply, or probe that open wound that seemed to be festering in his soul, Vegeta would furiously force himself to think of another name to add to his list of suspects for just who Zhelonie was. It did not help that almost all of his intel on this season seemed to come from the very woman he had sworn not to think about—but that could not be helped. Nor could it be helped that he had to finally return to London, despite his fervent wishes otherwise. As Basil so bluntly put it in today's response to another of Vegeta's questioning missives, _I often find it easier to have information about potential spy candidates when I happen to be in the same CITY as said spy. As much as I enjoy being your pen pal, Vegetasei, I do believe it would be best served for the mission, and your sanity, if you returned to London_.

The letter had not surprised Vegeta, but he had not been happy about it either. He had been putting off returning to London as long as he could, as well as the long, two-day journey ahead of him, as he knew that it meant he would have lots of time to think. Oh joy. But still, Vegeta left Saiyan Castle with as much fanfare as he had entered it (which put it at about a zero on the level of fanfare's). Promising himself that he would spend most of the ride back thinking further on his theories about who Zhelonie was, and not at all about that blue-haired witch who had ensnared his mind as well as his body.

Easier said than done.

* * *

><p>Vegeta arrived back in London on an unusually bright and sunny day, at odds with the chillier, more overcast nature he had left in the borderlands. He had frowned at the lovely day, wishing he were back where the weather seemed to match his mood, but knowing that it would be downright foolish not to be where Zhelonie and Frieza were, especially as things seemed to be steaming towards a head. As he rode Thunder back to Saiyan Hall though, his bad mood only soured, especially as he found people out and about, smiling, laughing, and basking in the warming glow of the sun. He frowned even deeper at their good moods, wishing, more than usual, that he did not have to be in London right now.<p>

His entrance into Saiyan Hall was uneventful, as he found that all of the elder residents were out and about (the dowager, out and about? He did now know whether or not to thank his lucky stars, or to worry what she was plotting), and that Bulma was holed up in her room, while Kakarrot was outside sparring with Nappa and the bald runt. Nappa had not joined Vegeta on his trek in the wilds, as Vegeta had needed him to remain in London, to see what leads he could scare up from his usual sources. Vegeta knew he would have to pump Nappa for information in a little, but for right now, he would leave his man to his sparring.

Vegeta took the relative quietness and solitude of the house in with a deep breath, before ascending the main staircase. He headed first to his room, where he changed from his dusty riding clothes, before he turned right back around, changed into another set of black clothes, with every intention of heading straight back out the front door and heading straight to the War Offices so he could speak to Basil in person.

So he could not explain why he found himself, instead, turning into the guest wing, heading to where he knew Bulma's room was. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own as they carried him closer and closer to where her quarters were, frowning as he remembered the last time he had been here. The unsuccessful attempt to make her his mistress the night of the opera. If only he could turn back time to that much simpler time when he knew the only thing he wanted from Bulma was her body. Well and her sharp mind…but that night he would not have cared if she were a halfwit.

He stopped right outside of her door staring at the solid oak door, and he knew he would not knock. He was not here to talk to her, or to confront her, about anything. Long gone were the days where he would consult her with his thoughts about the mission, and even longer gone were the days he would seek her out just to see her smiling face. But he grew a great comfort, that he dared not analyze, simply from standing in front of her closed door, his hand on the wood, as he pictured her on the other side, working furiously at her latest invention. He took a deep breath, the lilac aroma he would always associate with her permeating straight through to his bones, awakening a singing in his blood that he thought he had purged himself of.

"What are you doing?"

Only Vegeta's years of training in the service and as a spy stopped him from dropping his hand and jumping away from the door, guiltily. Instead, he turned, slowly drawing his hand back to his side as he took in the younger man standing not ten feet away from him, curiously watching him. Kakarrot stared at him, his head cocked to the side, and Vegeta studied him for a hint of maliciousness. But there was none. Kakarrot just stared at him, genuinely perplexed.

Vegeta straightened, cursing his lack of height, but glad to know his authority made him appear taller than the mere pup in front of him. "I am here to check on the progress of the ships engine from your sister."

Kakarrot's eyes did not narrow in suspicion, nor did his mouth give a knowing smirk, as Vegeta would have expected. Instead he only crossed his arms, cocking his head more. "So why don't you knock and ask her?"

Vegeta wished he knew this man in front of him more (outside the training grounds that was), to know whether or not this questioning fool was an act of his or not, but Vegeta did not, so he could not. "Even you must be aware of how inappropriate a situation like that would be. To knock on a woman's closed door, seeking entrance, especially into her private chambers."

Kakarrot shrugged, "Never stopped me."

Vegeta's mouth drew into a hard line at that though he knew, by Bulma's own admission, that her and Kakarrot were nothing more than (adopted) siblings. "Well, you are brother and sister. Circumstances are different."

Another obtuse shrug, which drew Vegeta's ire.

"So your plan was to stand outside Bulma's door until she came out?" Vegeta mutinously said nothing, only crossing his arms, facing his cousin fully. Kakarrot leant back against the wall behind him, as if he was settling in for a long chat. "Might as well get comfortable. Bulma hasn't really been coming out of her room much lately."

Unwittingly, Vegeta started forward, his ears perking up, "Really?"

Kakarrot nodded, crossing his arms and his ankles as he casually took in the Duke. "Yeah—she's been pretty intensely working, she does that sometimes. Usually when she's near the end of a project…or when her and Yamcha would be fighting."

Vegeta cursed himself for caring, but he could not stop himself from asking. "Yamcha?"

Kakarrot smiled at Vegeta, though his tone of voice remained casual. "Bulma's old suitor in America. The one she broke up with right before she came here?" Kakarrot stood, cracking his back out, casually adding, "Though they would probably be back together if we were in America. Those two have been on and off for years. We're all waiting for them to make it official—Bulma thought it would have been this past winter if…well, if we hadn't left."

Vegeta wished he could walk away from this conversation, wished he could throw his hands up and say he did not care, but instead he found himself unable to stop asking questions. Especially about this fool of an idiot Yamcha—Vegeta remembered him, though he did not remember the name. The scarred idiot. How could one not remember him? He had guessed that Bulma and that fool had been lovers—but to know that her and this man might have gotten married if he had not showed up? That started a black pit boiling in his stomach, that had him cracking his knuckles as he imagined putting a hole through this man's stomach. If the only reason they were not engaged already was because of Vegeta's interference in Bulma's life than he was glad. Beyond glad. That idiot did not deserve her.

Kakarrot spoke again, halting Vegeta's envious thoughts, "The only times she's come out recently have been when that icy blonde woman called on her…and Viridian, I think?"

Vegeta's head reared back to Kakarrot, his eyes growing large. _The icy blonde woman? Viridian?!_ Not knowing which piece of information to grasp on first, Vegeta felt his throat clog, and he tried to clear it, trying to work through the gasp that was caught there. The icy blonde woman…that could only be Eighteen. But why in the dickens would she call on Bulma? What on Kami's green earth could his former have to say to Bulma? And Viridian?! How dare he call upon her in Vegeta's own house! "I hope she did not receive him. That would be highly improper."

Kakarrot gave him a broad smile, reaching over to smack Vegeta on the back, congenially. Vegeta had to fight the urge to congenially punch Kakarrot right back in the face, especially as he heard his cousins idiotic response. "Don't worry about it. I was there."

Vegeta felt like snapping, _oh that makes everything better than, doesn't it?! _But knowing that the longer him and Kakarrot stood right outside Bulma's door, the greater the chance would be of the two of them being discovered by the woman herself, he desperately tried to think of way to get the two of them out of here. "Well thank you for maintaining her propriety." Vegeta's eyes flashed as he took in Kakarrot in his training gear, suddenly feeling the blood beneath his skin pounding with the need to thrash something, soundly. "How about you show me if you have improved at all in the last few weeks, and we spar?"

Kakarrot's eyes finally widened with interest, but he shook his head after a moment of contemplation. "I have already sparred outside today. I am tired." Vegeta saw an unusual glint in Kakarrot's eyes as he continued, "Though…if there were some indoors gentleman's club, with an actual ring and training equipment we could use…"

Vegeta felt his own eyes narrowing. Was his younger cousin bribing him into taking him to Jackson's? Bribe might be too strong of a word for something as innocent as asking to be brought to a indoor gentleman's club—but Kakarrot seemed good and planted in the spot he was currently standing in, which boxed Vegeta into being right outside Bulma' s door. Did Kakarrot realize how much Vegeta wanted, no, needed to escape from where he currently was without being forced to awkwardly run into Bulma? Vegeta's lip turned up in a snarl at that thought, especially as Kakarrot stood, only idiotically smiling back at him and he considered giving his cousin a sound thrashing for daring make such a request of him. As he took a step forward, though, Vegeta heard movement behind the door he was standing in front of, and he froze. Shit—they needed to get moving, and they needed to get moving quickly.

So Vegeta only nodded, before pushing past, speaking as he walked away. "Meet me at Jackson's in an hour. Do not be late."

He did not have to turn around to know that fool of his cousin was standing behind him, grinning like an idiot.

* * *

><p>Vegeta's visit to the war offices was uneventful. Basil was happy, but not surprised, to see Vegeta back in his offices after the last missive he had sent him. The only news Basil really had to report was that nothing had really changed, though a large number of spies were still going missing. The forces were being rallied, all active members of His Majesty's royal service being asked to the capital or to go into hiding. Vegeta knew that this had partly to do with the fear of how many covers were blown, but also with the fear that a war was fast approaching and that Basil wanted as many troops on hand as possible for when the time came to strike.<p>

The only immediate news was that there was a function that Basil wanted Vegeta to attend that evening, as it was being thrown by the French embassy—which meant that every French person living in London was sure to be there. Basil spoke in his usual no nonsense tone as he relayed Vegeta's orders. "Now that our numbers have dwindled, we need every available spy with enough blue blood to be there tonight. Tell Lilac to be on her highest alert."

Vegeta frowned at that, his face set like stone at the mention of Bulma, even through her code name. "I will not be seeing Lilac before the event. I suggest you send her a note telling her yourself."

Basil's eyebrow quirked up, but he said nothing on that, the rest of the meeting progressing without incident. As he stood to leave, Basil gave Vegeta a rare smile. "We are happy to have you back in London, your Grace. It makes things much easier to have the top spy in London actually in London."

Vegeta gave a nod to that as he frowned at Basil's smirk, but beyond that he saw no reason to comment, so he only turned and left the room.

He made it to Jackson's before the appointed time with Kakarrot, and smiled at Korin, who was beaming to see Vegeta back at his place. "Vegetasei! Long time no see. I thought we had finally lost you to the crush of the season."

Vegeta smirked, shaking his head. "Never."

Korin did not move from his chair, only motioning to the back room. "Well you have impeccable timing as always. It is a Tuesday, and Piccolo is currently alone in the back training room."

Vegeta bowed to Korin, cracking his knuckles expectantly, even as he walked towards the back room. The tumult of emotions he had been going through, especially since his 'enlightening' conversation with Kakarrot resulted in a singularly pulsing desire in Vegeta to fight. Besides his cousin, what better person to exercise this desire on?

Piccolo was in the middle of a training kata when Vegeta entered the room, stopping on the threshold to watch the graceful movements of the other man. Piccolo was an interesting fighter—a man who was totally at zen with himself and his surroundings, which made him dangerous as he seemed to sense the movements around him before they even happened. As Vegeta saw Piccolo finish up his kata, he stepped further into the room, smirking. "Piccolo."

Piccolo did not seem that surprised to find that he was no longer alone in the room as he looked over his shoulder, only walking over to towel some sweat off before he spoke. "Your Grace." He hesitated a moment (as he often did) before he continued. "I was beginning to lose hope of us ever sparring again." His voice was cool, calming, like water—as it was every time he spoke.

Vegeta shrugged, cracking his neck as he rolled it. "Sometimes Ducal duties pull me outside of London."

Piccolo's green eyes flashed as he took the man in, but he only moved back to the center of the ring, his voice soft as he replied. "Of course."

Vegeta dropped into a sparring stance, not wanting to waste any time. He was grateful to see Piccolo do so as well, but before either could throw a punch, Vegeta remembered Kakarrot's near arrival and decided to alert the man to their change in training. "My cousin will be joining us in about a quarter hour. He is also an excellent fighter, so I do not anticipate him posing a problem to our usual pace."

Piccolo, who had been rotating his arms, stretching them out, stopped at Vegeta's pronouncement, frowning. He suddenly stood from the position he had been in, and looked to the clock on the wall as if he had forgotten it was there. When Piccolo looked back, Vegeta saw something unfamiliar flash in the other man's eyes. "Unfortunately, your Grace, I cannot stay much longer. I had not realized how late the hour has grown. I have an important appointment today that cannot be missed and appreciate your patience until we can fight again."

Vegeta frowned, wishing to question the man on his change of heart, but before he could, Piccolo was giving him a respectful bow as he strode from the room. "Until Thursday."

Vegeta stared at the doorway the man had just fled through, perplexed. Not much thought could be given to the change of heart, though, as a few seconds later, footsteps approached, and Kakarrot appeared in the room, being led by a smiling Korin. Korin took no notice of Vegeta's perplexed face, or the lack of the Indian in the room, only smiling broadly. "Here is the Duke now. Why don't you go change in those rooms I showed you, and meet us back in here?"

Vegeta looked at the two men, frowning as he saw the bonds of camaraderie already growing between the pair of them. Korin was his master—and he did not like that his cousin was already growing friendly with him. Though he could not explain why. Korin was a master to many—but maybe knowing that Kakarrot already shared so many aspects of Vegeta's life made him cagey about those that they did not have to. As Kakarrot gave a sufficiently respectful bow, looking reverent as he said, "Yes Master Korin." Vegeta only scowled at the pair, crossing his arms.

Kakarrot headed out of the room, and Korin walked further in, his smile in place as he stopped next to Vegeta, oblivious to Vegeta's black mood (or purposefully ignoring it). "Vegeta, you did not tell me your cousin was trained in the Turtle style."

Vegeta looked down at his odd little master, shrugging. "I was not aware that the Turtle style was something that interested you."

Korin chuckled as he shook his head, before turning his usual smile onto Vegeta. "Of course it should interest me. I trained the man who invented it."

That stopped Vegeta again, drawing his mind from the mystery of the disappearing Piccolo, and everything else that had been thrown at him that day. "You trained Kakarrot's master?"

Korin nodded, "Seems that way." He quirked his eyebrow, "Your styles must be amazingly similar. Have you noticed anything of that sort?"

Feeling petulant for some unexplainable reason, Vegeta stubbornly stuck his chin out. "As if I would deign to call that rubbish way my cousin has of sparring close to my own style."

Korin raised an eyebrow at Vegeta's tone, but ignored it as he turned back around to study the open doorway Kakarrot had just left through. He rubbed his chin, musing aloud, "I wonder if this is the same boy Roshi wrote me about so long ago. Found in the woods, living by himself—but with a great potential to be an amazing fighter. An incredibly quick learner—the best student Roshi had ever had. But his name was different…. What was it? Go—something? Gohan? Goten? Something like that."

Vegeta's lips were in a thin line again. "Goku?"

Korin snapped, smiling again, "That's it! If the boy has as much fighting spirit as Roshi wrote about, I should sell tickets to your two's fight."

Vegeta's felt himself growing snappish, but he only shook his head at his master's proclamation. So it did not seem to matter that Vegeta had trained under Korin, who was considered the greatest master in the British Isles. The same fighting style that Vegeta had been praised under was something, it seemed, that his cousin was already fantastic at. Great. Was there nothing in Vegeta's life that Kakkarot would not inherit once Vegeta was gone?

Vegeta's mouth turned to sand at that thought, and whatever need he had felt to fight left as well. Today as not going as planned at all. In London for only a few hours—and already Vegeta was counting down the hours until he would be able to leave. And, to top it all off, he had to attend some sort of society event tonight so he could try and flush Zhelonie out. Today could get no worse by Vegeta's own estimation—though maybe he should hold off in saying that until the dowager had seen him again. "I have lost the desire to fight right now. Please ensure that Kakarrot is set up with an adequate partner."

Korin stared at Vegeta with open eyes, but he only nodded, "Are you feeling alright?"

Vegeta did not bother to look at him as he walked towards the exit, "I find myself with no desire to fight suddenly and see no reason to go through the motions with a man I have already sparred with numerous times."

"I meant more you have never turned down the opportunity to fight before, Vegetasei."

Vegeta knew his voice was snappish when he answered, but he could not help it, "I just don't feel like fighting right now. Okay?"

Korin was oddly silent after that, and Vegeta resumed walking out of the room, but, as Vegeta suspected, Korin could not stop himself from having the last word. "Sometimes a troubled soul does more to hamper the fight inside of a man, than broken bones or torn skin."

Vegeta stopped at the open doorway, but he did not turn, only nodding to acknowledge that he had even heard the words, before he left Jackson's wishing to Kami that he were still in the borderlands.

~~&~~  
>AN: Hmm, seems like everyone is full of secrets in this story. Seriously, is anyone exactly who they say they are? (Where would the fun be in that?)

Anywhoo—hope I got you guys ready for the next chapter! I might be a little mean to Vegeta in the next chapter—but really, doesn't that asshole deserve it?


	27. Bested!

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did…Sex. There would have been sex.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: Thank you to all of you who keep pushing me and prodding me for updates! Trust me when I say that it gives me the motivation I need to keep writing when I'm too tired to even see straight. Thank you to everyone who reviews; you know how much I love you especially my chronic reviewers. The fact that you've stuck around this long means the world to me. A special thank you to Lily for your extremely well thought out and awesome review. Seriously, you've said some incredibly nice things to me, and I hope you realize how much they mean to me.

As usual, thanks to my amazing beta, Lilpumpkingirl for making my sometimes manic writing more understandable. Seriously, she's amazing guys.

Chapter Twenty-Six: Bested!

Bulma's entrance back into Ton society was not completely her idea, or her doing. Really, it came down to Bunny (did it not always come down to Bunny?). She called the doctor, who had come for Bulma's ankle—which was healing at a remarkable rate, of course—and he had given his blessing for her to go back into public as long as she did not dance on it. So that excuse had been taken from her. Not only that, but she had received a note from Basil, the first from him that had nothing to do with translations since that disastrous mission.

She had received the missive from Basil earlier today and read its instructions on keeping her eyes and ears extra open with a frown on her face. First off, she did not even want to attend this event, and second, she was done with being a spy. Oh, she would do as he asked, and still did translate anything Basil sent her way—but as for the nitty-gritty spy details? Bulma would leave those to people who had no problem hanging off of the side of the building as it rained. Bulma still felt like she had an adventurous spirit (probably always would)…but she preferred the kind of adventures where you did not constantly fear for the loss of your life. She would stick to her dumb pranks with her brother, and being outdoorsy when she felt like it.

But still, the call of attending a social gathering once she realized her mother was dead set on having her go, allured to her more than she would have thought. Something about seeing the Widow Gero earlier that week…it made Bulma realize she was not meant to play the role of the recluse, even if she would rather do nothing more than stay at home and finish up her plans of the steam engine. She needed to be out and about—though going to the French Embassy's annual who's who of French people in London was not her idea of dipping her toes back into the pond of the Ton. It was a bit more like throwing oneself full-bodied into the ocean of the Ton—but hey, she was out and about, and her parents were ecstatic to see her outside of her room.

As was Goku, who was in a particularly good mood. Though he would not tell her why. She wondered if it had to do with the pretty little cook that worked downstairs, but Bulma was still having a hard time grasping the concept of her brother seeing women as anything other than boys missing some parts (his words, obviously), let alone trying to grasp the concept of Goku having feelings for a woman. When she asked him what was so great about tonight after he had told her it was going to be a good one, he had only said, "Why you coming back to the society, of course!" Before he tapped his nose, winking. Bulma had a feeling he was trying to tell her something, but this went beyond her and Goku's usual wordless communication. Not that he would explain himself when she asked him what the hell was wrong with him and their parents' arrival soon stopped any communication between the pair.

Her arrival back into society went just as she would expect it would. Everyone flared up when she walked into a room, happy to see the season's incomparable back before turning back to their respective groups so they could gossip about her reappearance, and why she had disappeared in the first place. Oh, if only they knew. The gentlemen who had been at her side all season returned, falling over themselves to help her get some punch, or to escort her to the most comfortable chair they could find, while the ladies paid her their dues by coming by and speaking to her. It was really advantageous that she basically held court in the room, as she was able to meet every single French person that she had not yet this season, though it did not help her answer that nagging question of just who Zhelonie was.

Not that Bulma had been spending a lot of time or resources to those thoughts—though she still cared, she found herself not as thoroughly sucked into the question as when Vegeta and her could discuss them together. Plus, it was not like Basil was going to share intel with her about what was going on in the spy world the past two weeks, so she found herself going in circles, again and again, over what she already knew. Throw that on top of the work she had been doing with the engine, as well as her taxing emotions about what just had gone wrong with Vegeta—and you had one thoroughly maxed out Bulma.

But tonight, sitting where she was, being introduced to everyone who was anyone (she had already thought she had met everyone who was anyone in London, but shows what she knew), Bulma found herself back on high alert. She watched everyone a little more closely than usual, listened to every conversation that she could, and generally catalogued everything and anything about the people around her, hoping to cross reference it with what was known about Zhelonie later.

Though something was niggling at her neck, some indefinable thing that had her constantly reaching up and brushing her bare neck as if there were some fly that kept buzzing at her neck. But as she looked over her shoulder through the windows she sat in front of, once again, into the inky blackness of the night behind her, Bulma could not shake the feeling that she was missing something….

* * *

><p>Vegeta found himself in the gardens of the French Embassy, on the outside looking in on the party, frowning at what he was watching.<p>

It was not unusual for him to be outside at a party like this—Vegeta knew better than most that the outside gardens of a party were for more than clandestine meetings between paramours. What better place to share information with another agent, or to pump someone for information, than in the muted darkness of the outside of a large, glittering party? He knew that Basil would have other spies here tonight, inside the party, so Vegeta's plan had been to come as if he were going to attend the party itself, but then to spend as much time as possible outside, watching everyone who came outside for something unusual.

He had discovered more information this way than by stoically standing in corners at other events he attended, and had no plans of entering the party. Especially since he was not feeling particularly sociable after the day he had been through. Vegeta was expecting an uneventful evening of standing in the dark, waiting for someone, anyone, to reveal themselves to him as Zhelonie.

Regrettably, he had not anticipated that Bulma would spend the night in a seat that put her in his direct line of vision no matter which way he turned. He felt like he was a beggar on Bond Street, watching a glittering jewel sitting behind glass, feeling the desire to do nothing more than to touch the jewel to see if it was brilliant as it looked behind the glass. As he observed her though, he felt himself growing irrationally angry—he had thought that when he had left, when he had purposefully hurt her…he had thought that the hurt in her eyes was unbearable. But no—seeing her, now, acting as if nothing had ever transpired between them, as if she could oh so easily go back to her life as the incomparable of the London season—that rattled him more than he wished to admit.

He forgot Kakarrot's earlier words of Bulma hardly having left her room, instead wondering just how quickly she had resumed her life as London's society queen after he had left her, trying to put distance between them. The black pit in the bottom of his stomach that had started churning earlier today, with the mention of that fool _Yamcha_, became a vortex, threatening to consume him whole as he saw Bulma smile, nod, and laugh with other men.

Half a dozen times he had to stop himself from walking into that party and going straight to Bulma. Half a dozen times more he had to resist the urge to punch one of the men Bulma had been talking to as they came outside to the balcony for daring to talk to Bulma. But Vegeta stayed where he was, leaning against a tree that offered him a shadowed place to observe the whole party without being a part of it, forcing himself to look at anything but Bulma…and failing miserably as time and time again his eyes were drawn straight to her. She was not even wearing a remarkably colored gown as he had come to expect from her—she had gone with a rather demure white, but all that did was make her hair all the more vibrant.

Still, he had to force himself to observe what was happening around him, not just Bulma. He ignored the couples that walked past him, thankful that his dark position meant that none of them saw him as they moved onto their assignation spots for the night, trying not to think about his very own assignation he had had earlier this season. Instead, he forced himself to observe those around him that drew his suspicion—namely, those who walked alone in the gardens. He kept track of the people, though he found that they were often waiting for the other half of the rendezvous to show up, though there were a few that he had followed, only to walk back to his spot when he found they were just looking for a quiet place to empty their stomachs. Some people really could not hold their whiskey…. Which begged the question of why they were serving Whiskey at a French event, but that was a mystery best saved for another time he thought.

One particular woman who came out by herself, though, caught his interest more so than anyone else—especially as she had also been in his thoughts today. The Widow Gero moved outside like a woman with a secret, constantly watching everyone she passed, looking for someone it seemed. Vegeta, abandoning his post at the tree followed her for a bit, waiting to see what she was doing—if he knew the Widow, it would be meeting her latest lover out here. But he was hoping to catch her alone so he could question her on just what in the hell she was doing going to Bulma like she had.

Eighteen traveled deep into the gardens, moving in an erratic way that was totally at odds with her character that peaked his curiosity. Eighteen never moved like this—she usually kept her head high, her nose up, as she moved authoritatively, knowing that whoever she was looking for her would find her. But now…after searching for a while, she seemed to deflate further, finding the closest bench she could and slunking into it in the least regal way possible.

She sat slumped forward with her knees stuck together, her elbows resting on her knees with her chin resting on her fists. She stared ahead, unseeing, her mouth undoubtedly in a pout. It seemed as if she was disappointed, but about what, he could not know. This pouting—it was the last thing Vegeta had ever expected to see Eighteen do. She was always poised, regal, icy—never glum, or ungraceful in her mannerisms.

He observed her with none of the sexual interest he had once had in her (another thing he could thank Bulma for—an utter lack of interest in anyone of the female sex who was not her), before he decided he was ready to confront her. Vegeta made sure to make no noise as he joined her on the bench she was sitting on, but even so it took her a minute longer than he would have thought to pull herself from her thoughts and to realize she was not alone. She slowly turned her head, her face still set in a pout, as she flicked her eyes over her shoulder. He could see the moment her brain processed she was not alone, her body freezing before her eyes turned back to him, her mouth working to get something out.

"Vegetasei!"

Vegeta gave her a cool nod of the head, resting his arm on the back of the bench as he casually observed her. "Widow. Lovely evening for a stroll, is it not?"

Eighteen looked at him, sitting up straight, frowning as she took in his relaxed manor. "I was not aware you were at the party, your Grace, or even in town."

Vegeta continued his relaxed charade, not looking at her as he examined the back of his hands. He made sure his voice was plenty icy when he spoke though. "And I was not aware that you were on visiting terms with Miss Briefs, Widow Gero." He turned to look at her as he finished his sentence, making sure his black eyes flared with the displeasure he felt.

He was gratified to see her mouth open in an 'o' at that, but she regained herself rather quickly, sitting stiffer as she frowned at him. "I was not aware you kept tabs on who I visited."

Vegeta inclined his head, raising an eyebrow at her presumptiveness. "You think I keep tabs on who _you_ visit with? Not on who comes to my household, even if I am away?"

Eighteen grimaced at his reply seeming stumped for an answer. "I…uh…I…uhm…." Vegeta looked at her, raising an eyebrow at this out of character loss of speech, and she glared back at him. "But then why would you care that I visit—oh!" As she spoke her face went rather neutral, as she seemed to hit upon a realization. He saw a spark in her icy blue eyes, before she closed her face off, giving him that far off smirk he recognized as she turned to face him more. "No…I guess I was being rather self-absorbed with that statement. I am not that surprised you keep a constant vigilance on your home, even when gone—but I was surprised that my little visit to Miss Briefs even registered on your radar."

Vegeta, seeing the spark in her eyes, and feeling the way she had relaxed under his observation, felt himself growing uneasy. "I like to always know what goes on around under my nose."

Eighteen chuckled, leaning back into the bench, saying nothing as he moved his arm from the back of the wrought-iron bench, but raising her eyebrow to acknowledge that she noticed. "Oh, but this goes beyond your need to control everything, does it not Vegetasei? You came into the gardens to talk to me about it…because…well, it is not me you are interested in, is it?" At his stony silence, she smiled a feline smile, before continuing, "I doubt you were ever interested enough in me to care who I met with, even when I was with you Vegetasei. It is the Briefs heiress, is it not?"

It was Vegeta's turn to frown at Eighteen, cursing inwardly as he wished that the Widow was not as smart as she was. Why could the women he surrounded himself with not be as simple minded as the other chits in the London Ton? Not that it mattered now if Eighteen was smart or not—he was not sure how he had talked himself into that corner, but he knew he had to get out of it. "You are mistaken. I only am wondering just what you and Miss Briefs had to discuss. I was not aware you two had even been introduced."

She chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Don't be obtuse Vegeta. Everyone has met the great and beautiful Miss Briefs. Even lowly Widow's, such as myself."

His mouth flattened into a thin line, and he snorted at her tone as he stood from the bench, putting some distance between himself and the Widow. He crossed his arms as he looked back to her. "You still did not answer the question. Just what could you two possibly have to talk about?"

Eighteen looked at him, her blue eyes clear and wide as she watched him walk away. She ran her fingers through her bangs when he looked back, smoothing them, a gesture he recognized, before she spoke, "I needed a recipe from her."

Vegeta was not convinced, and his tone clearly displayed this when he answered, "A recipe?"

Eighteen gave him a smile, tilting her head as she crossed her ankles, hooking one behind the other, leaning forward. "Yes." She paused as she ran her hand through her bangs again, before she continued on, her voice light, "Isn't that what you men think us women talk about when you're not around?"

He growled at her facetious tone, but resisted the urge he had to take a step towards her, threatening her with his demeanor. Instead he forced himself to stand still, to affect a disinterested look. "Believe it or not, I do not often spend time thinking about just what it is women prattle on about when there are no men present."

Eighteen, though, seemed not to hear him as she too stood, pacing slowly before she turned back to him, her face in an a-ha moment when she spoke next, her voice eager. "Unless you think Bulma and I have something else in common we could discuss, which would explain your interest. But what could it possibly be?" She crossed her arms, and then tapped her chin with her finger, as if thinking. Vegeta felt his unease grow, especially when she gave him another cat like smile. "What could it be that would have you so worried, Vegetasei? What could we have in common that would cause you to seek me out? Something of a more personal nature, perhaps?"

Vegeta realized that this conversation was going nowhere he wanted to go, and fast. He needed to get out of there, quickly. He was no closer to discovering why Eighteen had visited Bulma than when he had first sat down to talk to the Widow and he saw no reason to stay. Especially as the Widow had turned the questions he was asking her back to him, and Vegeta did not like how close she was coming to the truth. So he moved away from her, making it clear that this conversation was over as he turned to look back at her. "I hope the recipe you received from her was delicious, but I do not anticipate hearing your name on the visitor list of Saiyan Hall anytime soon, especially as you two have nothing, I repeat, _nothing_, in common."

Eighteen hitched an eyebrow at that, crossing her arms, giving him a small smile as she watched him walk away. "Of course, your Grace." She gave a sigh that stopped him in his tracks, though he did not turn to face her. "But us women are such fickle creatures, are we not? Whereas Bulma and I may have nothing in common today—tomorrow, we could easily find a subject matter we both have lots to talk about…."

Vegeta gave her one last glower over his shoulder, and then abandoned Eighteen as quickly as his two feet could carry him. He was wondering just what he had been hoping to get out of that conversation, frowning as he walked back to the tree he had been leaning on earlier. Whatever it was—it was not what had happened. Just how obvious was his interest to Bulma? His _former _interest in Bulma—Vegeta had made the decision to forget about her as anything other than a woman who had to live in his house currently. But still—it irked him, just what Eighteen was insinuating.

He cursed himself as he made it back to the tree, settling in against the bark, ready to observe like he had been, ready to figure out just who Zhelonie was. He was just going to stand here, waiting for the Kami-damned clue he knew he was missing to figuring out who the spy was. He was not going to move again, he was just going to be the best damn spy he knew he could be, and not move a Kami-damned muscle until he needed to.

But even with his stubborn declaration, he found his eyes unwittingly drawn back to Bulma, and cursed when he saw whom she was talking to.

Viridian!

This time he did not stop himself from abandoning his post, heading straight to Bulma, promising himself to add Viridian's name to the top of the list of possible spies… Only to remember it was already on there with a host of death threats written underneath it.

* * *

><p>Bulma could not say she was that surprised to find Viridian standing over her once there was a lull in the number of gentlemen offering to bring her another punch (no way in hell—she had already visited the women's retiring room twice, and she already felt as if her body was going to burst), and women bringing her other people she had to <em>just<em> simply needed to meet. He often waited to talk to her until they could have as much privacy as one could find in a public setting.

She knew he held a tenor for her, but she could not take it seriously—for two reasons mainly. One, she saw him flirt with every female that was present at these things (from the youngest debutante to the oldest dowager…she was sure she had once seen Viridian make the dowager Duchess of Vegetasei smile and that was a testament in and of itself). And secondly, because despite her wishes to the contrary, she could only seem to think about Vegeta in that way. Even when she thought back to Yamcha, she could not pinpoint a time where her feelings for him felt as strong as they did for Vegeta. And they had been together for years!

But she was not going to think about Vegeta right now, not when Viridian was smiling at her, ready to charm her as usual. Viridian was at an advantage of everyone else in the Ton in that she had seen him when she had sworn off visitors. Viridian was not the only person who had called on her when she had been sick, but he had been the only one she had received (besides the Widow), simply because she had a nagging suspicion that she was missing something with him. Even through all of his flattery, and the way he always charmed her—she knew that there was something about him she should keep an eye on.

Something was not adding up with Viridian, with his demeanor, and his attitude compared to the rest of the Ton, and Bulma had hoped that meeting with him in as near private as she could would help answer whatever the voices in her head were telling her was wrong with him. Of course Goku was there, both to intimidate and to maintain propriety, but she did not air her suspicions about Viridian to him. Viridian had been oozing charm when she had received him and the meeting did not last long, only five, ten minutes, but Bulma had still had a sneaking suspicion she was just missing…something. He was too perfect—that was what it came down to. He always knew what to say, always knew what to do—it was if he was a blue blood who was acting exactly like the books said they should be, rather than a real blue blood did.

She was snapped back to the present, though, when Viridian drew up to her, stopping the proper distance away, far enough from the chair she occupied that she did not have to stare up at him when they spoke. "Miss Briefs, might I say it is lovely to see you back out and about?"

Bulma gave a nod of acknowledgement, inclining her head. "Thank you Viscount. I am glad to see that the London social scene has survived without me, especially after the way everyone has been commenting on my absence."

Viridian gave her a smirk, hearing the tease in her polite answer. Bulma might not trust Viridian any further than she could throw him, but at least she knew she would have an enjoyable conversation with the man. Viridian did not disappoint as he answered her, "You are lucky you did not see how everyone simply fell apart with you not here. Who were we to talk about? We could only comment on your absence, only speculate about just where you were, or how you had really twisted your ankle so many times before it simply came down to everyone lamenting those stairs you fell on, wondering how quickly your ankle would heal. Poems, no, _sonnets_ were written in your absence, and I would not be surprised if the gossip columns of the Times changed its name to _Speculations on Miss Briefs._"

Bulma gave an honest laugh at that, shaking her head as she smiled at him. "Really Viridian, you do me a great honor. I doubt people really even noticed my absence."

Viridian shook his head, tsk'ing his tongue as he crossed his arms, affecting a serious air. "Ah Miss Briefs, you astound me with your supreme modesty. Surely you know the only interesting thing left to talk about with your absence was Lady Launch's mood swings. Even you, in your supreme modesty, must know that those are not the most interesting of things to speculate on for the rest of us. Really, it was downright selfish of you to not be here for the rest of the Ton's amusement."

Bulma gave another easy chuckle, nodding her head in agreement. "Indeed. Well then I am glad to be back, as we know Lady Launch hates to hear about her mood swings being talked about, and to do so will only further incite further mood swings."

A deep timbre, one that had been haunting Bulma whenever she tried to sleep broke into the conversation then, shocking both Bulma and Viridian with its presence. "I assure you Lady Launch's mood swings have vastly decreased since her marriage to the Earl of Tienshinhan."

Bulma felt her throat close up and she had to fight to keep her face as neutral as possible when all she really wanted to do was bug her eyes out and stutter, 'Y-y-y-you!' Instead, she kept the pleasant smile on her face as she looked towards the latest person to join her circle, assessing him in a swift gaze. She noticed that he looked as he always did, dark, handsome as the devil—but if she was not mistaken, he looked tired. Good. After the way he had treated her, the least he could do was be tired.

Viridian gave a respectful bow to the Duke, moving to the side so that they would form a triangle rather than a line, murmuring, "Your Grace," which Vegeta responded to with a slight bow, before he turned back to Bulma.

By the time he was looking at her she was just sane enough to remember her anger, and she was just furious enough at him for arriving in London right when she was trying to make her entrance back onto the social scene to give him a good lift of her chin, her eyes blazing as she calmly spoke, "Well I'm glad Lady Launch was able to find a man who was man enough to handle her." Her voice had changed since when she had spoken to just Viridian, or anyone else from that night, taking a harsher edge on it as she looked at him, wondering just what the hell he was doing here.

He had already told her he did not want her, so why in the hell would he find her tonight? She simply wished he would go away. Well, right after she punched a hole through his stomach, of course. Or made him, at the very least, eat the words he had spoken to her.

Vegeta quirked an eyebrow at her words, muttering, "Indeed," while Viridian only interestedly looked between the pair. Vegeta continued, boldly stepping closer to Bulma, effectively cutting Viridian out of their little triangle, forgoing the propriety that Viridian had observed by standing as close to her as he could, forcing her head to go up to look at him. "But then again, what woman does not like a sappy happy ending to a love story?"

Bulma scowled inwardly at his words, but smiled as she gritted her teeth to him. "Indeed. What a foolish woman's fantasy it is—to find someone to love."

Vegeta shrugged, grabbing a glass of wine off of a passing waiter, taking a sip, before he answered softly, "Like you said. Love is nothing but a foolish woman's fantasy."

Bulma felt her tongue freeze, as she looked at him, the full impact of his gaze hitting her right in the chest, as Vegeta spoke, and before she knew it she had bared her teeth at him, barely resisting the urge to snarl at him. "I never said that."

Viridian tried to intervene, clapping Vegeta on the back, "Come now Vegetasei. How could you say such a thing when we have such a beautiful woman speaking to—."

But Vegeta cut him off, barely noticing the man who had dared to touch him. "You did not have to. I thought a woman as smart as yourself would know love is nothing but a foolish emotion thought up by poets and novelists."

Bulma scoffed at his words, forcing herself to take a deep breath before she answered, buying herself a second, "I think it is only a brave person, who is not afraid of emotions, who can really open themselves up to something as scary as love."

Viridian tried to speak again, but Vegeta did not even let the man breathe before he chuckled darkly at Bulma's words. "A brave person? Scary as love? Oh come now, Miss Briefs. Whatever could be so scary about love?"

Bulma smirked at Vegeta's words, as she calmly uncrossed her legs, repositioning herself, taking her time before she looked back up to Vegeta, blinking slowly. "What could be more scary, or more brave, than finding someone you love so much, you _trust_ so much, that you would willingly give all of yourself to them. To let them know the real you, to trust them to be there to pick you up when you fall, to know they will be there for you _when you need them the most_. It is rather brave indeed to trust in another, as you should know."

Vegeta's smirk grew harder, his eyebrows pulling down over his forehead. "Seems like an incredibly foolish person indeed who would trust someone else that much."

Bulma looked down, blinking up at him through her eyelashes, "I did not expect someone like you to understand."

There was a stilted silence as Vegeta and Bulma's eyes met, the chatter of the crowd receding from their self-imposed bubble. Bulma could hear her own breathing, and she swore if someone dropped a pin between them in that moment that she would hear it. She watched Vegeta as he stonily observed her, feeling a smile ghost her lips as she saw the muscles in his neck work. Vegeta might be an expert at making sure his face gave away nothing, but Bulma had become an expert on reading Vegeta when he least wanted to be read.

With him it was about the fire in his eyes, or in the small ways his muscles moved that told her all she needed to know. And what she knew, right now, was that she had pissed him off. Good.

Vegeta, to his credit, spoke in that same calm voice he seemed to always employ in public as he simply repeated, "Indeed."

Viridian, sensing that his presence was extremely extraneous at that point and time (and having observed enough to give him good gossip fodder for the rest of the evening), motioned towards the room breaking into their silent bubble. "If you would excuse me, Miss Briefs, Vegetasei. A glass of wine sounds divine right now, and I hear the French chardonnay was exquisite this year."

Bulma blinked, looking away from Vegeta's obsidian gaze, instead looking at Viridian's interested amethyst gaze as she gave a small nod to indicate she had heard. Truth be told, she had forgotten he was there. Damn—she hoped he had not sensed the sparkling undercurrent of her and Vegeta's conversation. Still, she gave him a small smile as he looked at her, speaking as politely as possible, "Of course, Viscount. Until the next event."

Viridian, looking amused at her, only intoned Vegeta's voice as he said, "Indeed."

Vegeta seemed not to notice his disappearance as he moved closer to Bulma, as close as propriety would allow, boxing her in so that he seemed to fill all of her vision. They were in a silent stalemate, after their charged words, but Bulma spoke first, the venom finding its way to her voice as she spoke, "Vegetasei." She chose one of his most proper titles, deciding to put some much-needed space between them as she spoke as coldly and as properly as she could. No way was she going to invite any more double entendre's or loaded language with him tonight. "I hope your travels were _pleasant_."

The way she said the last word left no room to doubt that Bulma wished the opposite to be true, but Vegeta only smirked at her, following the tone she set for their private conversation. "Miss Briefs—I am glad to see you are doing well. I trust that the ankle did not keep you long from holding court with the idiots of the Ton."

Bulma's grip on her cane, which to this point had been lax, changed, tightening as she imagined it was Vegeta's throat her fingers were around. She looked at him, steady though, as she cocked her head. "I don't see how it is any of your business who I talk to, seeing as you are only the man sponsoring me this season, and nothing more."

Vegeta snarled, leaning closer to her. "And you are nothing but the insolent whelp who had her brother blackmail me into sponsoring her."

Bulma sat up straighter, wishing she could stand, but knowing her ankle was sore she could only inch her neck up as far as it would go. "Well it is hardly my fault that you leave yourself open to being…blackmailed? Is that the word you used? I prefer coerced, your Grace."

"Dress it up however you like, Miss Briefs, it comes down to the fact that the only reason you are here right now, sitting so pretty, is because your brother would not come with me, without you." Vegeta's eyes flared up at this, and the corner of his mouth drew up in a smirk.

Bulma responded with another saccharine sweet smile. "And the only reason you're standing here right now is simply because if I start beating you with my cane, I know the rest of the Ton would assist me making sure you never lurk in any dark corners again."

Vegeta's eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward, but whatever retort he had been about to lob her way was cut off as Goku entered Bulma and Vegeta's tension filled bubble, seemingly not noticing that the two of them were currently in the middle of an all out war, lighting bolts erupting between them as little boulders were metaphorically rising around them. "Vegeta! I'm glad to see that you made it! When you left Jackson's earlier, I was afraid you would not show up tonight."

Bulma eye's snapped to her brother, breaking from the fury-induced rage she was close to erupting into. She turned to her brother, partially glad, yet incredibly upset at him for breaking up the best fight she had been in an incredibly, incredibly long time, frowning at him. His words sunk in a second later, even through the red mist she had settling in over her vision, and she incredulously said, "You knew he was here?"

Goku smiled at her, oblivious to the situation he had just put himself in the middle of—or doing a damn good job of pretending he did not know what kind of situation he had put himself in. He moved so that he was standing between them, putting some much needed space between the two of them as he could, simply by shouldering his way in. "Of course! I saw him earlier."

Bulma glanced at her brother, fighting to keep the hiss out of her voice. "You saw him earlier and you didn't see fit to tell anyone else the Duke was back?"

Goku shrugged, that smile still in place. "I knew you would see him soon enough—he said he was looking for you, earlier, and I knew he would find you." Goku shifted, putting a hand behind his head as he stared up over them as he remembered, "I mean, earlier, he was standing right in front of—"

Whatever he had been standing in front of earlier was to remain a mystery to Bulma though, as Vegeta roughly cut Goku off, his voice the loudest she had ever heard it as he spoke in a pitch she had never heard from him. "I WAS ONLY—," he frowned as he heard the tone of his voice, and tried again after clearing his throat. "Ahem—I was only going to ask after the state of my ship, the Saiyan Monarch."

Bulma frowned, confused as to what was passing between the men, as Goku looked at Vegeta, interested, and Vegeta turned to look at Goku as if he wanted to tear his head off, his nostrils flaring with smoke practically coming out of them. But she was even further thrown into confusion at Vegeta's words. "Your ship? The Saiyan Monarch? I have never even heard of it."

Vegeta turned back to her, glaring, the force of his anger hitting her full square in the chest. When he spoke, his voice was calm and controlled, alerting Bulma to the fact that he was extremely angry, "The Saiyan Monarch is the ship I told you you could put your steam engine on."

Bulma frowned at him, crossing her arms stubbornly as she looked up at him. "You never told me anything of that sort. Otherwise I would have started construction already."

Vegeta looked at her, his own arms crossing as he unconsciously copied her, "I left a letter for you the night of the—" he stopped himself, seeming to realize where his words were leading and just how inappropriate they would be in the current situation, as he amended, "The night that you twisted your ankle."

Bulma thought back to that night, that charged night, the last time she had seen him, the last time she had touched him—and tried to remember what Vegeta had told her, but beyond those hurtful words he had thrown at her, nothing else stood out. "No you did not. I'm telling you. I would have remembered that."

Vegeta pushed Goku out of the way, standing close to Bulma again as he looked down at her, his arms tight at his side as his fists clenched and unclenched. "Yes I did. I left a note for you in the front hall, and I even sent a note to you and the Captain of the Monarch to let him know to expect you."

Bulma scoffed at him, rolling her eyes as she stretched up to meet with him, her neck once again lengthened all the way up. "No you didn't, Vegetasei! I never got the note! I would have gone, even with my ankle!"

Vegeta let out a threatening growl, leaning closer to her, but once again Goku moved between the pair again. They did not seem to realize they were drawing the eyes of those around them, not because of their words (which no one could truly hear) but because of how they had moved closer and closer as they fought, pushing the boundaries of what was proper, but Goku sure as hell did, and he knew he needed to diffuse this situation and fast. Especially as their faces were mere inches from each other, Vegeta leaning down as Bulma sat as straight as she possibly could, both of them breathing hard from the need to do more than just argue verbally.

Goku smiled, breaking the mood with an easy laugh, diverting their attention. "Bulma, I knew you would have gone, even with your ankle. So I might have…with mom and dad's permission of course…hidden the note."

Vegeta, seeming to realize the eyes he was drawing, frowned at everything and everyone until they turned back to their own conversations, before turning back to the brother and sister.

Bulma's anger was instantly drawn from Vegeta, who she had been politely been scootching away from (also having realized the stares), whipped around to Kakarrot, her mouth in a flat line. Vegeta, if he had not been so angry at the world (but particularly at Bulma) would have been happy to see her anger directed at someone else. Instead, he was too busy flexing his hands, wishing to all get out that he had beaten out some of his aggression earlier today, to even really notice. Her words, though, he heard loud and clear. "You KNEW about the note?!"

Her brother smiled at her, shamefully, and he rubbed the back of his head, in a gesture she recognized. "Ah Bulma, you know you weren't supposed to be on your feet, and I know that if you knew about the ship, you would have been down there as soon as possible."

Bulma's mouth flattened into a thin line, but Vegeta was surprised to see her heave a frustrated sigh as she rolled her eyes, before giving a laugh. "You do know me…." Vegeta, seeing her instant mood swing, could only stare incredulously at the pair. She never calmed down at him that quickly!

Goku smiled, seeing that he had soothed her, putting a hand on her shoulder, smiling. "Well this is good news, then! You can start work on the Saiyan Monarch tomorrow! That means you can be done in as little as a month with the steam engine!"

Vegeta felt another bout of irrational anger surge through him at that, which he tried to tamp down. What he was feeling could only be described as jealousy, which he tried to tell himself, over and over again, was insane, as she meant NOTHING to him, could mean NOTHING to him. Still, seeing the way that Bulma and Goku were easily smiling at each other Vegeta could not help the sarcasm in his tone as he spoke. "I will write the Captain of the Monarch again, informing him that you will be coming. _Again_."

Bulma turned back to him, her blue eyes flashing in a curious way as she looked up at him. She seemed to realize they were in the middle of a London Ton party, rather than somewhere they could actually argue and only nodded, even giving him a polite smile as she put the mask of society back on. "Thank you, your Grace."

Vegeta looked at her, seeming as if he wanted to say something else, but instead, he just nodded, putting on the same mask she did, before he left Goku and Bulma to each other.

Bulma watched Vegeta as he walked away, unable to stop herself. As she watched him go, her thoughts got further and further away from her as well. Vegeta's actions—they were not what she was expecting for their first meeting. She had been expecting him to be as cold and indifferent as she remembered from that night—but no. He had been hot-blooded, arguing with her, seemingly angry at both Viridian and Goku for interrupting them…whatever he said his feelings were they were not the mark of a man who did not care.

In fact, if she were not so certain that it was absurd, she would say that they were the mark of a man who cared too much.

* * *

><p>Vegeta was making his way out of the French Embassy soiree, already in high dudgeon after the horrible, horrible day he had been having (had one single conversation he taken part in gone according to plan?!) when the one person who could possibly make his day worse, called his name, "Vegetasei. Stop right there. We need to speak."<p>

Vegeta froze, looking to the ceiling as he cursed Kami for throwing yet another obstacle in his path right now. All he wanted to do was get home, throw back half a bottle of Scotch, then to pass into blissful, numbing sleep. But no—Kami had thought it would be funny to make sure the dowager could find him before he left.

If it were up to him, he would pretend not to hear her and make a break for the front door. But, in consideration of where they were, Vegeta only counted to ten backwards in his head before he slowly turned to face the dowager, making his face as neutral as possible as he looked at her. "Do we? Can it not wait until morning?"

The dowager's mouth closed in a firm line, her eyes drawing closer together as she pointedly said, "Not when I know you have a habit of disappearing when you expect me to be expecting you. I have you now, here, the least you can do for your _grandmother_ is spare me a few minutes."

Vegeta felt like growling, but knowing that the only reason she had used the familial honorific was because they were in public, and they were being listened too, Vegeta nodded, following her into a secluded drawing room that she could close the door in as they spoke. When Vegeta turned, facing the dowager, his whole body was closed off. He stood in a relaxed military stance, legs spread in a v, but his arms were crossed, and he knew he could not help the frown that graced his lips.

"What do you want?"

The dowager took a chair, observing him, tutting as she saw his expression. "I simply inquire after your health, Vegetasei. It is not like you to go into hiding for two weeks."

Vegeta felt snappish, especially after his conversation with Bulma and Kakarrot, so he could not help the snappish way he answered her, "Nor is it like you to care about my health. We have a spare heir now—you do not need me in good health."

Her eyes narrowed, and she gave him a sickening smile as she spoke, "Is that not the truth, Vegetasei." She sighed, looking disappointed when she spoke next, "But Kakarrot is not yet ready to take over your reigns, as he is still stubbornly in his old family's clutches." She looked back up at him, her mouth in a determined line. "A problem I see going away as soon as you complete our plan, Vegetasei."

Vegeta could not help the shock that he felt, but he could help it from showing on his face as he shook his head at the dowager. "That plan fell through long ago, and I still refuse to take part in it."

The dowager tutted again, shifting her head to the side to observe him. "Did the plan fall through? From what I have…gathered…you are well onto your way to causing the chit's ruin, Vegetasei."

Vegeta felt as if he was at the end of the rope, and at the dowager's hints of knowing about his and Bulma's prior relationship, he could not help but feel as if that was the last straw on the camel's back. He had had a shit day, a long ride, been caught by his cousin at Bulma's door, been denied a good fight before denying himself one, and had had countless conversation he should have fully been in charge of get away from him. This really was the last straw. It was as if he felt something he usually had a tight control of break inside of him, and before he could stop himself he was in front of the dowager, holding onto the arms of the chair she was on, leaning over her, hissing, "If you ever dare bring up any such insinuations in my presence, or in the presence of another human being, I will not be held responsible for my actions. Your plan is sick, and I see no reason to continue this charade of family we have if you continue to be the heinous bitch you have been your whole life."

As soon as he said his piece, Vegeta gave the dowager, who only sat, calmly blinking at him, one last snarl before he stormed from the room wishing just once, just this once, that he had been born into a family other than the one he had been _blessed_ into.

A/N: I think a dowager who doesn't even blink when being insulted and threatened by her grandson is a dowager we should all fear… Notice how Vegeta's not as smooth as he usually is in this chapter, I wonder why that could be? *coughcoughbecausehecan'tadmitthetruthabouthisfeelin gstohimselfcoughcough*

Uhm, anywhoo…It's been another fun chapter to write, and I'm glad we got to see Bulma and Vegeta back in the same room. They always seem to bring out the best (and the worst) in each other, don't they? Also, a Tien and Launce reference for the small faction of us that wonder why the hell they weren't a couple throughout all of DBZ…seriously. Maybe I should write a one-shot about them? Are there enough people out there like me who even care about Tien or Launch? And you gotta love sweet naïve Goku, who is more likely to unintentionally spill the beans on something he doesn't even really know is a secret than not.

The next chapter is written, I just need to re-read it and send it to my beta, so hopefully it won't take too long to post! Love to you all, and hope the new school years are treating all my teacher and student reader's right.


	28. I'm All Alone (Except for Me)

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did…there would have been less powering up episodes. Seriously, now as an adult, I find it so hard to sit through a three-episode stint where someone is powering up for the ultimate attack…Which usually failed.

Warnings: Cussing

A/N: I would seriously like to thank everyone who keeps reviewing this story, and to let you know that I'm still alive and here! Just getting settled into a new life, and you'd be surprised how fast time flies when you're settling into a new job, making new friends, trying to learn a new language…but never fear! I am still working on the story, and I've really excited for the bit we are getting into now. Love you all!

Lilpumpkingirl thanks for being the best beta out there!

Also, this chapter's title is inspired by a song from Spamalot

Chapter Twenty-Seven: I'm All Alone… (Except for Me)

Bulma knew that today should be one of the happiest days of her life. She should be ecstatic. She should be beyond ecstatic! She should be jumping out of her skin, hugging everyone in sight, happy at what she had accomplished today dammit! She should be so happy that she should have slipped into one of her usual diatribes about how amazing she was to anyone who had ears to listen. Instead, here she was, hiding at the back of the Vegetasei property, holding onto a tree she had climbed as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat right now.

She knew she should not be out here, hiding from every one, and she should especially not be climbing any damn trees, what with her ankle only having just healed and all. The same doctor who had cleared her for the French Soiree had revealed to everyone two days ago that the cane was really unnecessary at this point, really taking away Bulma's excuse for not getting her own tea and crumpets…but that was besides the point right now. Even if the cane was unnecessary, her ankle was only newly healed, and climbing trees was not something that went hand in hand with keeping limbs unbroken.

But she had needed it, this absolute solitude, no matter what she had accomplished today. And she had accomplished a lot. She had not only succeeded in outfitting one of the Duke of Vegetasei's ships, the Saiyan Monarch (a slightly smaller version of the Saiyan Lady) with her larger prototype of the steam engine she had been working on over these last few weeks (months? She had lost all track of time recently it seemed, ever since Vegeta had swept into their lives), but she had succeeded in her first real test run.

The captain of the Saiyan Monarch had been less than pleased when Bulma had shown up on his ship with a note from the Duke of Vegetasei himself to let her do whatever she wanted with it. He had grown even less pleased when she had informed him that this would take at least a month (though she had finished way before schedule), and he had turned downright unpleasant when she had taken over the largest room below deck for the side-lever engine she had invented, turning it into an engine room.

She did not want to think about how he had reacted when he had come to see her one day and seen that the deck of the ship had been ripped up so that two large pipes now stuck out of the middle of his ship, so that the steam would have a place to vent—but it had not been something one could easily forgot, she found.

_Bulma was instructing two of her workers to clear up all of the left over plank from where they had torn the deck up, when she had started to hear an aggravated howling from the sounds of the docks. Though everyone else on the ship stopped working to turn and look at the (presumably) dying person, Bulma kept staring at her checklist with a single-minded intensity that would have made her father proud. Truly, she did not have to turn around to know what she would find as the sounds of the approaching tempest got closer and closer to where she stood on the bow of the Saiyan Monarch. _

_As the wailing became sharper and clearer, the nearer it got, Bulma finally gave up on trying to work, instead trying to decide what the wailing reminded her of._

"_MY DECK! MY SHIP! MY…MY SHIP! MY WOOD! MY BEAUTIFUL, BEAUTIFUL SHIP! IT'S RUINED! RUINED I TELL YOU!"_

_Well now that it was speaking, you would presume that it would sound closest to an aggravated human (for that was what it was) but, she had thought, you would presume wrong. Perhaps it was like that howler monkey she had once seen in the zoo at central park? Or maybe that unholy sound her mother only seemed to make whenever a mouse was present? Or the one Goku only made in front of her when needles were present?_

"_MISS BRIEFS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SHIP?!"_

_Hmm, maybe it was even more like Goku when the needle indeed had to prick his skin. She had never heard anything as unnatural sounding as she had the first time they had needed to inoculate him—until this moment that was._

"_MISS BRIEFS! I DEMAND YOU ANSWER ME AT ONCE!"_

_Bulma, knowing it would do her no good to continue to ignore him, calmly turned and faced the captain, certain to keep her face neutral as she nodded at him amiably. "Good afternoon, Captain. How are you today?"_

_The older man, whose head had been swiveling around, taking in everything that was going on around him (as the workers had all started moving the second they got over the fact that a grown man could make that noise), and the newest addition to his ship (two extremely large and heavy steel exhaust pipes, that Bulma had calculated to the nearest ounce so she knew how buoyant to make the ship), turned back to her, mouth gaping like a fish, his eyes large as he repeated, still at howler monkey levels, "MY SHIP?!"_

_Bulma rubbed her eyes before crossing her arms as she faced him. "Technically, it's my ship. Has been since the Duke himself sent you that note."_

_The Captain's face had gone a spectacular shade of red, and then, like the exhaust pipes that he was so worked up about, the man had simply exploded, blowing up at her as he realized just what she had done to his ship._

_Bulma had only thanked heaven that he could not see that there was now a giant spin wheel behind the ship that would propel it forward, or she was sure the lecture she had received about proper ship maintenance and streamlining the hull and blah, blah, blah would have been a whole lot longer than it was._

The Captain's attitude was quite different today, when she had finally asked him to help her take the new engine on a test run. She had warned him that it could be a disaster, but even she, in her less observant state than usual, could not miss the way his eyes had lit up, glowing as he realized that she was telling him to try out her newest invention. It did not matter how old they were—you give a boy a new toy, and they would turn back into a…well…boy.

They had not gone far out in open ocean, and with Bulma splitting her time below deck, showing the men how to operate the engine, and above deck, instructing the captain on how to use it properly, she had had to be informed later by the stunned captain that it had been the fastest run of a ship the captain had ever seen in his years and years of being a crusty old sea captain. Well, granted, he had not called himself a crusty old sea captain, but with his long grizzly beard and hair, hulking stature, peg leg and eye patch (she could not make this up)—what else could he be? Well, currently, he was as happy as a clam (or as happy as Bulma should have been) but that was a (sea) horse of a different color.

When she had returned to the Thames dock, she had been besieged with questions and offers from other shipping companies who had seen (or heard) about her steam engine, and just what it could do for their ships and companies. She had informed them that she had already sent her design to the patent office, and that once it was approved, they would have to pay her a pretty penny to outfit their ships—until then, her model was exclusively owned by Capsule Corp, and the Vegetasei trust. Most of the men, seeing how fast the Saiyan Monarch had moved, were more than willing to pay whatever she was asking, trying to bribe her away from her own families companies. If that did not indicate success, she did not know what did….

Bulma's family had also been waiting for her as they had docked, and Goku had about crushed her to him, shouting to all of the docks that Bulma Briefs, _his sister_, was the smartest, most genius, and most inventoriest inventor ever! When she was not being crushed to Goku's chest, she had seen that her mom had been crying and her father was beaming at her, their pride as obvious as it always was. Bulma should have felt high on the fumes of success, buoyed by everyone's reaction—really, she could not have planned or predicted their reactions better herself. But one person had been conspicuously missing, and due to this, Bulma felt her spirits sinking as quickly as her model ship, the Heiress, had on the Thames…. It came down to one simple factor—how could she be happy when she realized that _he _was not there?

It had been a tumultuous couple of weeks since the night of the French Soiree when Vegeta had breezed back into her life (well breezed was too easy going of a word, maybe thundered?)…but she had been expecting him to be there today of all days. Hopefully to congratulate her on a job well done, or at the very least to see that the ship he had entrusted her with did not explode. But no—not a single sign of him on the ship, by the docks, he was not even lurking somewhere dark and nefarious like everyone else expected him to be.

And because of this, she had grown even more depressed.

Ever since the night of the soiree Vegeta had ignored her. Not even giving her the cold shoulder ignored her, but straight up pretended she did not exist ignored her. He had not tried to talk to her, or look at her, or, hell, even argue with her. It was as if the night of the French party those three weeks ago had been a fluke—like he had realized he was showing emotion to her, and had realized the only way not to show emotion around Bulma was to just not even be around Bulma. He avoided being home at all costs, and Bulma could honestly say she had not seen him for more than a few milliseconds at a time in the last few weeks. Every time she would catch a glimpse of him, it would be long enough to see him walking in the opposite direction, or into a room that would then click locked, or out the front or back door so that he was not even in the house with her.

She found herself growing more and more depressed (and angry at him, very, very irrationally angry), throwing herself into her work, as she often did when she found herself wanting to avoid her unpleasant emotions. She had surprised even herself with how much work she had accomplished in her current sorry state though. It was supposed to take her at least a month to finish up her prototype of the side-lever steam engine she had invented, even longer to start construction on it on the ship...but she had done it all in three weeks. It was funny what boundless energy and money could do for getting what you wanted.

She found crews that were willing to work long hours, and provide her with men to even work at night to help her with the strenuous construction on the ship (making sure they all got paid more than they usually did in a whole year helped). The money helped finding workers who were even willing to listen to a woman, though Goku made sure she was never alone with them. Goku, who seemed to notice some sort of change in her since Vegeta's return (hell, he had probably noticed when Vegeta had been conspicuously absent as well), had re-entered her life as her best friend and younger brother with a vengeance. He accompanied her to the stock yards, to the mills, to the balls, the musicales, to the shops, to Günter's ice's, to the library—wherever she had to go, he was there, hardly letting her out of his sights when they were not at home. It was like he could tell something was wrong with her, but he could not tell what it was. So he had decided to solve it by never leaving her side.

But thanks to his presence, the workers never questioned her, never grumbled about working under a woman. Well, not after Goku gave one a black eye after he overheard him say something…. Bulma was not sure what he had said, as Goku refused to repeat it, but she was sure it was bad, the way his ears got so red whenever he thought about it. After that though, the workers had given her no gruff, and construction had gone off without a hitch. Due to the workers diligence in constructing the ship, her drive, and Goku's presence, she had found herself today, taking the mainly completed Saiyan Monarch for a simple test run that she was sure would change the way people traveled for years and years to come.

As she said, she should have been overjoyed the second they made it back to dock with nary a fire or a capsizing to show for it, happy that life had worked out for her, proof that her genius was beyond compare (as everyone who met her on the docks reminded her)…and yet she was not. She was more dejected than she had ever been in her life.

Not just because of Vegeta, though that certainly had something to do with it…well it all came back to him, did it not? Why did he have to sail into their lives and shake everything up as badly as he did?! It was bad enough he was taking her brother away from her, trying to turn him into something he was not, but now…now she could admit that he had come into her perfect little bubble and shaken that up so badly that nothing would ever be the same for her again.

Bulma was late.

And not late, as in 'oh, tea started ten minutes ago, I'm running late,' late.

No—she had missed her last three menses.

She had not her courses for close to three months now, and since she was supposed to get them a week after that first encounter at the Vegetasei ball, she had missed three courses. She could put it off to stress, she knew other women missed them when they were stressed—but Bulma had been more stressed because of work than this, and she had always had her menses on time. Four weeks between, ever since she had first reached that lovely stage of womanhood when she had been thirteen.

She had never, ever been late.

Bulma was too in control of everything around her, including her most base bodily functions, to allow her body to be late, or erratic with her period. But here she was, close to four months after having met Vegeta, and she was late—he just had to screw up another part of her life, did he not? Taking her brother, making her an emotional mess—it was not enough for someone as destructive or tainted as him. He had to seduce her, then tell her he basically hated her right before she found out she was pregnant, didn't he?

Pregnant!

Her! Bulma Briefs! Unmarried, unwanted, and pregnant! Oh Kami...what the hell was she going to do?!

A strangled laugh escaped her lips, making her sound deranged, as she thought about how stupid and ugly she felt in that moment, pregnant and alone. It seemed that her genius did not extend to her personal life, or to matters of the heart, and that her beauty and money could do little for her now. She could only imagine the glee those who had hated and envied her their whole lives (for example, just about everyone she had ever met) would gain from knowing where she was now. An unmarried pregnant woman—that was just about the worst they could wish on her, was it not? Sitting where she was, Bulma twisted her skirt in her hands, fighting back tears, as she thought about what very limited options were available to her, as a pregnant, unmarried woman, not liking them very much.

Going to Vegeta was beyond out of the question—he had made his feelings clear to her these last few weeks, and she did not want to even imagine what his reaction would be like if she tried to tell him she was pregnant. He did not even seem aware of the fact that she had been a virgin, but he had not offered for her after he had taken her that first time. That did not inspire much confidence in her that he would offer for her when she had his child. He would probably put all of the blame on her somehow—not that she could even get to him to tell him. His avoidance tactics and disappearing acts made it beyond impossible for her to find the time to tell him she was pregnant, let alone tell him she missed him…because fool that she was, she missed him. Even if she desperately hated him and wanted to do nothing more than make him burn in a fiery pit in hell for what he had done to her. No man treated Bulma Briefs like he was!

But she was not going to dwell on her conflicting emotions for Vegeta, as she knew whether she despised or desired him, it did not matter. He was not an option. She needed to keep thinking, trying to find a path out of the predicament she had put herself into. She could go to her parents and ask for help, but that thought left her even bleaker than the original one of going to Vegeta had. Her parents had always given her the freedom and education she craved, but this…this was taking things too far. An unmarried pregnant daughter was a bigger stain on the family's honor and reputation (both in the business world and the private world) than if Bulma had murdered someone. At least if she had murdered someone, they could pretend she was crazy.

Even her easygoing parents were not going to take the news of Bulma's pregnancy in stride, and she could only imagine their reactions. Her mother would be disappointed that her dreams of snagging her daughter a rich husband were gone, right out the window, while her father…Bulma had only ever seen her father mad one time in her life—and it was not something she ever wanted repeated. The anger had not even been directed at her, but at a teenaged boy who had taken to calling her and Goku not-so-nice names when they had been younger, and it had been spectacular in that it had made her blood run cold. The youth had been forced to run, crying for his parents, who had only apologized at their son's incredibly bad manners. A cross Dr. Briefs was not someone you tried to argue with. She could not imagine what she would do if that anger was directed at her, especially as she had always been daddy's little girl.

Well, no longer a little girl, it seemed.

Her hand strayed to her still flat abdomen, her eyes growing large as she realized what she was thinking. Her body was currently housing not only herself, but also some unknown, little, defenseless baby that she was going to be bringing into the world. She was no longer responsible for just herself, but for the life that was going to be growing inside of her. She was going to be a mother. She was going to have a child. A baby. Her and Vegeta's baby.

It did not matter if she were ready for it, or if her life was in order, it seemed, as her body was already playing incubator to a new life…one she had created with Vegeta. Something about that thought gave her an odd sense of complacency as she realized the babe she was growing would always be her little part of Vegeta, that she would have forever. Even if she hated the man himself, she could not hate what she created with him. The thought made the ache in her heart lessen at the same time it made the bottom of her stomach drop out. She was going to be a mother. A mother to a child…that was not going to grow up knowing its own father's love….

That thought burst those small hopeful feelings she was allowing herself to feel, like a balloon being popped, reminding Bulma that not only was she alone, broken-hearted, unwanted—but she was pregnant.

Pregnant!

Before she could stop herself, she burst into big, gut wracking tears, feeling more hopeless than she could ever remember feeling before. Bulma could not name a time when she felt more alone, more desperate, or more confused about what she was going to do. She could always think of plan—that was what she did. She was a thinker, a genius…but now, she saw no way out of this.

Oh Kami—what was she going to do?

She wondered, fatalistically, how long she had before she would begin to show, before she would have to admit the truth, even as the tears ran down her face, blurring her vision. She would have to tell her family in a couple of months when she began to show—was there any way she would be back in America by then? If she were, at least it would be easier to hide her pregnancy from everyone, perhaps go off for a visit to one of the families other properties where she could give birth in peace and quiet...but then what? Hide her own child from her family for the rest of their lives? Have someone else raise her…their child? No way in hell!

What hurt the most, what ached the most, was how very desperately alone Bulma felt in that moment as she tried to think about her future. Who would stand by her side now?

She had no one.

She was alone.

Once she gave birth, there was no way any other man would ever want her, and it was just going to be her and this child for the rest of her life. That started another great sobbing gush of tears that streamed down Bulma's face, and she buried her face in her hands, wanting to do nothing more than to be anywhere but here. She wanted to rewind the clock, going back to that time of happiness, before Vegeta had appeared and ruined her life. Though the thought of never meeting him also had desperation clawing at her, she realized, and that was not a good thing.

"Bulma? Bulma, where are you?"

Bulma's head shot up, and she felt her spirits sink as she recognized the voice, that of her brother, as he walked below her, looking for her. Could he not leave her alone?! Even when she was at home?! Damn! She had thought she would have a few hours to sulk up here by herself before she had to face her family at supper! But her damn infernal brother—he could not even let her sulk in peace, could he?!

Her brother—oh, her poor, baby brother. Bulma's heart dropped even further, wondering what Goku would think of this whole situation, wondering what would happen to that perpetual smile as she told him about her mistake. She could not imagine his reaction—he, who had always been one of her staunchest supporters, and greatest defenders—what would he say to those who tried to taunt her for being pregnant?

She was not ready for that yet—she was not yet ready to see his face drop, or to see disappointment in his eyes, and so she tried to hold herself in, to stop even breathing as he looked for her below. Her brother had always had keen hearing, and she knew that he was a great tracker—but the last thing she currently wanted was to be found by him….

Still, she had to breathe, and so she let out a soft, low breath trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She was unable to stop the hiccup that followed it, unfortunately, and even that small sound had Goku's head swiveling towards her, pinning her in his sights as he found her, hidden in the tree. His face split into its usual wide grin, which had her heart sinking even further. "There you are! We need to celebrate how smart you are after the success of your engine-steam!"

He moved so fast that she only had time to scoot over on the branch she was sitting on before he was next to her. Goku had always had the climbing skills of a monkey, and she knew it would be futile to try and run or hide from him. As he made it to the thick branch she currently inhabited, he turned to face her, letting go of the trunk he had just shimmied up, giving her another wide grin. But as he saw her, the smile vanished, concern and confusion etched on his face as he saw the tears she could not hide from him.

"Hey—what's this? Are you crying? What's the matter?"

Bulma tried to hold herself together, tried to hold herself erect, alone like she was used to—but she was too weak, too exhausted, too emotional, and before she knew it, she was leaning into his shoulder, sobbing her heart out unable to answer his question as she was having trouble breathing.

Goku, who was usually awkward around crying women, immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her closer to him, patting her back, and whispering, "Shhh, whatever it is, it will be all right," over and over, comforting her with his general warmth and trite platitudes.

Bulma held herself to him, crying, trying not to remember the last time she had been in a man's arms, and wishing that it was Vegeta who was holding her to him, not her brother. Goku was too bulky, his hands too broad, his smell completely different than that of the one she craved…. But still, it felt good just to have someone hold her for now, their arms wrapped around her, comforting her. Even if it was the completely wrong person.

When she could finally control herself better, when she could stop the heaving sobs long enough to take some calming breaths, Bulma pulled back, wiping her tears with the hanky he had drawn from his pocket, giving her nose a much needed and good blow. When she thoughtlessly handed it back, it almost made her start crying again when Goku took it back without a word, without a thought, folding it and tucking it away.

She gave a sob, but stopped the tears, frowning at her brother at his unconsciously kind gesture. "Why do you have to be so nice?!"

Goku cocked his head, giving her a small smile at the question, "How can I not be so nice? Life has been good to me."

Bulma frowned, feeling confrontational, and irked at Goku's easygoing smile. She knew she had not told him, but could he not tell that Bulma's life was in shambles—and he was just sitting here, smiling, as if nothing was different?! With her anger in hand, Bulma could not stop the cutting way she spoke to him. "Oh yeah—life has been fantastic to you. Just look at what has happened! Your parents and brother died in a ship crash—"

Goku interrupted, brushing some hair out of her face, "Bringing me to my Grandpa Gohan, who taught me how to be loving, caring person, while still teaching me to fight…."

Bulma barreled on, angrily shaking her head so her hair fell back to where it was originally, "Who then died in some freak accident, leaving you alone for a year!"

Goku was not deterred. "Which introduced me to you and your family—where I get the pleasure of calling you my sister every day." He did not even say that sarcastically, which only made her angrier!

Bulma frowned in the face of his unwavering optimism, shaking her finger at him, "Only to have some Duke swoop into your life, threatening to take you from us forever, since you are his blood, apparently! Where's the happiness in that, Goku?!"

Goku smiled at her, taking the hand she was shaking at him, holding it in his larger one as they sat on the tree. "Bulma, I don't know about that one yet, but everything happens for a reason. If Kami, or whoever, wanted me to be in England so I could meet Ch...people, then I'm sure it will all work out."

Bulma tried to tug her hand from Goku, but he just tightened his grasp on her hand, giving her an earnest look. "Now do you want to stop trying to change the subject and tell me why you're up here, all by yourself, crying? When we should be celebrating how amazing you are?"

A guttural noise escaped her lips at that point, and Bulma had to fight back the urge to cry, instead turning away from him to look back over the extensive Vegetasei gardens. "But I'm not. I'm not amazing."

Goku's voice was cajoling when he spoke next, "Sure you are! You've just invented something that will change the face of travel forever! You should be touting how smart you are, not hiding!"

Bulma turned back to him, and Goku had to fight to keep the smile on his face as he saw the depth of his sister's sadness shining out at him in those azure depths he knew so well. A sadness that only seemed to have amplified since Vegeta had returned the night of the French Party (when he had been so sure that Bulma would have been happy to see Vegeta!). She had been unhappy before that as well, and so Goku had hardly left her side, trying to get that sadness that shone from her blue depths that took the breath from him. Goku did not like to see anyone he cared for to feel so unhappy, and he had made it his mission these past few weeks to make sure Bulma would go back to her old, happy self.

A lot of people took her hard outer shell for granted, thinking that Bulma could handle it all, but Goku knew that she was only human, and needed people to prop her up, even if she did not like to admit it. So because of this, he had made it one of his life's missions to make sure Bulma would always know she could depend on him, that he could always make her smile, no matter how bad things got. Especially in light of his conversation with his father not so long ago, when he had promised to always protect his sister from the hurt of others.

It seemed he was failing, as he slung an arm around her, pulling her so she was resting on his shoulder, even though he could tell she was trying to put distance between them. Well, she could not get rid of him that easily, and he was not leaving here until she clued him in on what was making her so un-Bulma-like. "Bulma, tell me what's wrong. Tell me how I can help. I can't stand seeing you like this. You know I would do anything for you. You're my sister and I love you."

Bulma leaned into Goku's shoulder, almost wishing she could just disappear inside of his smooth, easy confidence for a while, but knowing that she would eventually have to surface, back to her current position of being unwed and pregnant. And she could no longer distract Goku with anger or absurdity—he was being as tenacious and persistent as he ever was, and she had to tell him. She had to tell everyone eventually, did she not? Who better to start with then her brother? If she told Goku, he could help her hide her condition, or help her figure out a plan. Bulma desperately felt the need to share her burden with someone then, and she knew that Goku would be her best option. Her brother might be mad, or angry with her, but Goku cared for her, and would not judge her too harshly…she hoped.

"Goku…I…I…oh Kami." Bulma stopped, closing her eyes, taking a deep breath before speaking again, "You have to promise you won't be mad at me?"

Goku pulled her back a little, staring down at her, searching her face. He gave her a smile though, trying to make her understand. "Bulma I could never be mad at you. We've been through so much together, haven't we?"

Bulma gave him a weak smile, but sighed, sitting up straight as she pushed her hair out of her face. She could not stop the way her stomach was rollicking, no matter how kind (and true) Goku's words were. "I guess…but just promise."

Goku sighed, putting his hands up in defeat. "Okay, okay. I promise."

Bulma took a deep breath, ignoring the hiccup that escaped when she let it go, twisting her hands back in the fold of her gown as she looked down at the creases she was creating, probably irreparably hurting the gown. "Okay." She took another deep breath, as if that would help her say what she had to say, before she forced her spine to straighten, and to look Goku square in the eyes as she said, "Goku I'm pregnant."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Bulma felt an odd sense of detachment from herself, from the words themselves—then a rushing sense of acceptance. It was no longer a niggling fear in the back of her mind, or a concern she constantly had to talk herself out of. It was the truth, she was more certain of this than she ever had been of anything else in her life, whether or not she had a doctor's confirmation of her condition. Bulma was going to be having a baby, and she was going to be a mother to some defenseless little child. She was pregnant.

A weight lifted from her shoulders, the fear of telling someone gone as soon as the words were out, and she closed her eyes for a brief second after she finished saying them to revel in the sense of how it was all going to be all right. She had gotten over the hard part—had she not? Telling someone, accepting the truth? Now she could dedicate herself to figuring out a solution to her problem. When she opened her eyes again, she was mollified to see that Goku's first reaction to her bombshell was pure shock. His mouth was wide open, his eyes bulging as he looked unseeingly over the grounds, and if she was not mistaken, he had had to catch himself from falling out of the tree as both of his hands were now grasping the branch they were sitting on.

"Goku?"

Goku turned back towards her, his mouth slowly closing, though his eyes still seemed unable to go any less bulging then they currently were. "You're…you're going to be a mother?!"

Bulma nodded, still nervous about what was going to come after shock with Goku. Whatever she had been expecting though, she was not expecting him to catch her to his chest, laughing, "Why Bulma! That's great! You're going to be the world's best mom! Look at how well you raised me!"

Bulma's mouth was the one that slacked open this time, and she pulled back, pushing away from his tight hug, looking at him incredulous as she scrambled away from him. "So…so you're not mad?"

Goku only snaked his hand around hers, intertwining their fingers as he gave the hand a squeeze. "Why on Earth would I be mad? Is Vegeta mad?"

Bulma was thrown off by her brother's easy way of accepting this, his words throwing her into a whole other state of confusion. "Why would Vegeta…wait." Realization dawned on her then and she could not keep the shriek out of her voice when she spoke next, "You knew?!"

Goku gave her hand another squeeze, giving her a tilt of his head, and a smile. "I'm not as blind as everyone thinks Bulma, you know that. I see the way he watches you, the way you act around him." Goku frowned then, his fingers unconsciously wrapping around hers, harder, when he looked back to the house, "Wait, did Vegeta not react well when you told him? Is that why you're up here?"

Bulma's lower lip caught, and the weight she had felt lifting at telling Goku sunk right back to her chest, pressing there, hard, right against her ribcage. Bulma looked away from him, her voice low when she answered him. "No… I did not even tell him, Goku. And I'm not going to."

There was a silence, and she could almost feel Goku's eyes boring into her downturned head. His voice was low when he spoke next, catching her attention. "Did something happen? I mean, I know you were fighting the night of the French party…." His words trailed off, willing Bulma to fill in the blanks.

Bulma just shrugged, refusing to look at him, wishing she were not on a tree, so she could pace away, but she was not, so she could not. She was almost proud of herself, the even way she spoke as she answered him. "Vegeta has made it very clear to me that whatever we might have had, it's over. He has no feelings for me...Goku, where are you going?"

Goku had let go of her hand, and was already on his way to climbing back down the tree, and he glared up at her from where he was turned, facing her. She blinked, backing away from the familiar fiery rage she saw there—she had just never seen it on Goku's face before that moment. It was a look that was pure Vegeta—that pure anger, pure hatred. "You're my sister, Bulma, and I'm going to go teach that bastard a lesson he needs to learn, good and well. No one disrespects my big sister like that! No one's title gives them the right to treat anyone as less than a human being!" With that, he let go of the branch they had been sitting on, and let himself climb down the rest of the tree.

Bulma scrambled after him before he even reached ground, her sore ankle protesting as she reached land, trying to keep up with him. Damn her brother for being in such spectacular shape! "No! Goku! Wait!"

Goku, who had a good head start on her, froze, his fists clenched at his side, his face set in grim determination as he turned back to look at her. "Bulma, I have to go defend your honor. That man cannot treat you like this, or make you feel like he has the right to do so! No one should make you feel like this! He needs to see what he is doing is wrong!"

Bulma walked closer, her palms up in an appeasing gesture, her voice stern when she spoke. "Goku—no. I don't want that! I don't want him to know! I can't have you telling him, or cluing him into the fact that I'm…you know." Bulma shiftily looked around them, even though she knew they were still far enough from the mansion that they were not likely to be overheard. But Vegeta was a spy, and she would not be surprised to learn that he had ears everywhere.

Goku frowned, but he stopped, stepping closer to her, his voice lowering as well as he picked up on her nervousness of being overheard. "You don't want him to know? At all?"

Bulma shook her head, emphatic in her desire for Vegeta not to know. "No. I just want to make it back to America before I show, and to find a life there. I don't want him to even have a clue that he did something like this to me—what if he tries to take the child away from me?" It was a fear Bulma had had when she had realized that there was no way in hell that Vegeta was going to offer for her. What if he rejected her, but kept the child—his illegitimate heir? He would have the right—the law would give a Duke a child over the child's own mother…and she knew she did not want that. This was her child dammit. She would give it the love Vegeta never could or would. "This is my child, Goku, and I want to give it a good life. A life it won't find here as the bastard son of some Duke who won't truly ever care for it."

Goku's frown deepened, but he looked down, taking some deep breaths, forcing himself to breathe, to calm down. He clenched and unclenched his fists, over and over again, and Bulma knew he was trying to tamp down the fight reaction he always had (Goku would never flight from a problem, that was for sure). She could hear him muttering under his breath, but she had no clue what he was saying, and Bulma felt herself grow uneasy at Goku's uncharacteristic frozenness. She started to creep towards him, softly saying his name, wondering if he had finally snapped from always being so happy. When Goku's head shot back up, she started, stopping a few feet from him. When she saw the gleam in his eyes as he looked back at her, smiling, she simultaneously felt thrilled and frightened. She knew that look. She knew what it meant—it meant that Goku had an idea.

"I'm coming with you then."

Bulma felt her breath hitch at his declaration though she would love to do nothing more than to take him up on his offer. To have Goku at her side—it would make everything easier. But this was not his mess to clean up, it was hers, and so she reached for his shoulder, shaking it as if she could shake some sense back into him. "You can't do that Goku, you can't just leave England and come back with me. You're a viscount now!"

Goku shook her hand from his shoulder, smiling at her as he caught both of her hands with his own, giving them a reassuring squeeze as he spoke, "I can be a viscount from America. Because I'm going with you."

Bulma sighed, shaking her head smiling sadly as she calmly told him, "Goku, you coming with me won't change much of anything. I will still be reviled as an unwed pregnant woman, and I will still have a child who is a bastard."

Goku gave her hands another squeeze as he lowered his head so their eyes were even as he gave her another one of those broad grins, "Not if you're married they won't."

Bulma's whole body froze at that, trying to piece together what he was saying. When it hit her, what he was offering her, what he was implying her breath stopped and the next time she spoke it was hardly a whisper, "…What?"

Goku moved closer to her, dropping one of her hands, and instead cradling the left one in both of his hands as he rubbed his thumb along the back of her left ring finger. "Bulma, you and I both know that unmarried women who have babies will have no opportunities open to them. Your brains and dad's money will do you no good, and no matter how hard mom and dad try to protect you, you will be leaving yourself, and this child, open to the harsh gossip of everyone you have ever met. Imagine how much scrutiny you are always under, and times it by a hundred. Do you really want to leave your child open to that kind of life?"

Bulma's eyes met his at that moment, though she did not see him—she saw her childhood, before he had come. She saw lonely she had been, and how alone she would always feel, no matter if the other children included her or not (they often did not). Could she really condemn her unborn child to that kind of existence? "No…I can't do that to a child, Goku."

Goku's smile softened as he saw the pain of her childhood in her eyes, heard the way her voice hitched as she answered him. His own voice was soft enough to match hers when he answered her. "So let me help you, like you have always helped me Bulma. Marry me, and I will raise this child as my own. No one will ever have to know that I'm not the father, and they won't be able to hurt you or the child in that way. As far as I'm concerned, and as far as anyone else will be concerned, you and I will be married, and I will be the father of that child."

Bulma did not know if she was horrified or intrigued by his offer, though she could see how much easier life would be if she were married when she had this child. She would incur some gossip if they knew that she was only married after having given birth, but if she returned to America already married and pregnant, they would never have to know the exact date of the wedding. But this was madness! This was Goku who was asking her to marry him, not some nameless, faceless man. Could she really do this to him? Shackle him to a life of being her husband, a father to a child he had no part of making? "But…but…you're my brother. I could never be a real wife to you Goku, I could never give you the happiness you deserve from a real woman who loves you like that."

Goku slashed his hand as if batting her objections away. His face was set when he spoke, his voice sure, "I love you, and you love me. We marry each other because we respect and care for each other, Bulma. That's a whole lot more than I can ask for from these daughters of peers that I am now expected to marry. With you, we know each other. I'm not expecting you to become the mother of my children, or a real wife to me. But if you marry me, we can go back to being best friends, go back to America, back to how things were before they were complicated by the arrival of some stuffy Duke. Only this time we have a child that we can teach how to play pranks, and climb trees, and fight, and invent stuff…Bulma, we would have the best child of all time. You just have to let me help you. Let me pay you back for all that you've done for me over the years."

Maybe it was her grief at finding out she was pregnant, or her happiness at realizing she would not have to do this herself, would not have to be alone, but Bulma found herself slowly nodding, slowly warming to the idea, especially as he spoke so warmly, painted such a pretty picture of the future they would have together. He was surprisingly persuasive, and it made all those cold feelings Bulma was feeling before she had told Goku go away. She could see the life they would have together, and while it would not be as explosively passionate as what she had had with Vegeta, it would be nice. It would be simple. It would be happy.

Bulma's voice was almost optimistic when she spoke next, "We can go back to how things were?"

Goku nodded, giving her a smile as he started to walk back towards the mansion, her hand still clutched in his. "Yes. We can pretend England never happened."

Bulma's eyes met his as they walked, and she felt the burden on her shoulders lighten, almost as if she could see it resting on his shoulders as well now. "Okay. But…but I need to warn you now. I'm already over three months pregnant Goku."

Goku gave a nod, turning to face her as they stopped near the house. "That's okay. No one in America will ever have to know when we got married Bulma. Like I said, as far as I'm concerned, this is my child now. You should know as well as I do that blood does not mean family."

Bulma felt the burn at the back of her eyes that usually heralded tears, but she knew these were different. These were not the desperate sobs she had had earlier today, but happy ones. Maybe it would all work out. Maybe it could all work out. She gave him a watery smile. "You're right Goku."

He gave her another smile before he pulled her into a tight hug. "Good, Bulma. Now go get a bag. We have to do this quickly, before anyone can figure out that we're gone. I have a feeling both the Duke and the dowager would not be happy with us marrying, and the last thing we need is their interference."

Bulma disagreed with the Duke caring if they married, except to protect his stupid bloodline, but Bulma also knew that the dowager would not react kindly to such news that the Viscount was marrying the un-titled American. And that was putting it mildly. Full on catastrophic melt down might be a better way to put it. She had no compunctions about how the dowager felt about it…and she could just see that bitch coming for Bulma's head. Bulma gulped as she imagined losing her head to the Valkyrie dowager (why a Valkyrie? Not a clue) and she nodded, "You're right."

He gave her hands one last squeeze before he dropped them. "Okay. Meet me in the stables in thirty minutes, I'm going to go rent a carriage. We leave for Scotland now. We can be married in Gretna Green by the morning, on a ship back to America by the end of the week."

Back on a ship to America by the end of the week? Even with the hellish boat trip ahead of her, her spirits lifted at that thought. She could be home, be back where things were normal? Back to where life was okay? Her smile must have reassured Goku because he turned, going to leave, but Bulma called him, stopping him, needing to say something. "Goku."

He turned back, that odd light of determination still there in his eyes, reassuring her that he was not running from her, not going to go tell her parents about her predicament. "Yeah Bulma?"

She smiled at him, placing her hands on her still flat abdomen unconsciously. Her voice shone with her appreciation of him, and with her love for her brother as she spoke, "Thank you. You're going to be a great father."

He laughed, before walking back up to her, grabbing her in a bear hug and twirling in a circle with her until she too let out a laugh. When he placed her back on the ground, he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, before pulling away, smiling at her. "We're going to be a great family."

And with that he walked away, leaving her for a few moments to blink after him, wondering if he knew how much of a hero he was being to her right now. Could he have any clue how much this all meant to her? How this was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her? Bulma smiled after him, her hand still on her belly, before she took a deep breath, and entered the house, knowing that if they were leaving for America from Scotland she had a lot of packing to do.

Not clothes, mind you. Those could be bought anywhere. No—she needed to pack her plans and blueprints of a steam engine up. They might not be able to save her on this upcoming journey, but she swore to change the way people traveled, and by Kami, she was going to stick with that.

Nappa was working in the stables, brushing Vegeta's horse, frowning at nothing in particular as he thought about nothing in particular, when he heard a flurry of activity that attracted his attention near the stable doors. The sound of someone rushing into the stables, slamming open and closed doors of stalls, looking for someone, and a loud sigh of relief when whoever the person was looking for was found all made him stop mindless brushing and to take notice.

He peeked over the stable wall he was currently sitting behind, frowning as he saw the bald midget and the Viscount standing there, talking, and looking extremely serious. Nappa moved closer to where they stood, observing them both, his mouth set in a line of grim determination on discovering what the American's were up to. Something about seeing them both so serious caught his attention. He never saw them serious, not even when they sparred with each other, him or the Duke. They both were easy to smile…the fact that they both looked so intense alerted him that something was amiss.

Kakarrot's face was set in determination, his voice as serious as Nappa had ever heard it as Kakarrot said, "Krillin, I need your help."

Krillin nodded at him, his own face set. "Sure Goku, anything." Krillin frowned before pulling his face straight again, unable to mask the worry in his voice as he asked, "Is everything all right?"

Kakarrot fidgeted, before he began pacing, his hands twisting in knots as he started to talk. "It's something…I need you to go rent me a carriage that will take me to Gretna Green, tonight."

Nappa was glad that he was standing over some hay, as the brush he had just been holding had just dropped from his hands at Kakarrot's command, his mouth wide open at the Viscount's words.

"Scotland?! What the hell are you going to Scotland for?"

Nappa was glad to realize that it was not his voice that had asked that question, though he would surely have liked to. In fact, it was taking everything in him to not expose his hiding spot and to go slap the Viscount across the face for talking so much crazy.

"Bulma and I are getting married."

Nappa would have dropped the brush he had already dropped all over again, but he had to settle for his eyes bugging out, his mouth getting even wider at that. Forget slapping some sense into the Viscount. He would have to beat it into him if Kakarrot seriously thought he could marry the American heiress. Nappa was well aware of the Duke's own claims on the woman (how could he not be when he had been with the Duke since he had been only a child?), and he knew that this was not something Vegeta was going to accept with quiet complacency.

Nappa was saved from speaking (or being seen) again, though, when Krillin once again burst out exactly what Nappa was thinking, "YOU'RE GETTING MARRIED?!"

Kakarrot shushed him, looking around, causing Nappa to duck back behind the low wall of the stall, only able to listen to the American's conversation. He could not risk being seen—he needed to make sure he got all the information to Vegeta as he knew that Kakarrot was stronger than him. If Nappa tried to stop them by himself it was likely that he would end up bound and gagged somewhere so that the Duke could not be warned. Kakarrot's voice was lower when he spoke next, "Krillin, I need you to keep this quiet. We need to leave before…well, before we get stopped. We're going to get married, and then we're going to find a way back to America. We're leaving as soon as you get back. I need you to rent me a carriage—can you do that for me?"

Krillin's voice was loud and clear as he agreed. "Of course Goku." There was a hesitation before he heard Krillin clap Kakarrot's back. "Never thought that you would get married before me, Goku….Congratulations?"

Kakarrot let out a long sigh, before he clapped Krillin's back as well. "Yeah, thanks Krillin. I need one other favor from you though."

Nappa felt his mouth go dry, knowing he needed to warn Vegeta that the Viscount was planning on running away. Oh, and getting married to the Duke's gel. He could only imagine what the Duke's reaction was going to be, and Nappa did not relish the idea of being the bearer of bad news. Vegeta was volatile to begin with, but especially of late he had been downright openly hostile to everyone and anyone around him. This sure as hell was not going to help his already mercurial mood swings of late.

Nappa knew time was of the essence here, but he also knew he could not leave until Krillin and Goku did without alerting them to his presence, so he only kept listening, wondering what other bombshell's the Viscount was going to drop would be. "Okay, okay. What's the other favor you need?"

"I need you to wait a few hours, then I need you tell my parents where we went. I don't want them to know until we are well out of the city, so they can't stop us."

"Okay."

A hesitation, then Kakarrot spoke again, "Oh, and Krillin….Can you tell Chi-Chi in the kitchens for me? I don't want her to find out from anyone else…and tell her I will miss her cooking…and that I'm sorry things were not different." Well that was an odd bit of news, but in comparison to the other bombshells Nappa had overheard, it was not one he was worried about.

"Of course man. I'll leave now…have a safe journey."

There was a clapping sound, one that Nappa took for a man-hug, and he sighed when he heard the footsteps walk away. He waited a few more minutes than stood, heading towards the war offices, hoping that Vegeta would be there. Every minute he would have to spend trying to find the Duke would be wasted in what he was sure was going to be a spectacular chase up to Gretna Green this evening.

A/N: So many of you guessed about Bulma's condition months ago (or chapters ago, I should say), but consider the need to have some suspense that I waited until the most inopportune time for Bulma to find out about it herself. Her and Goku, running up to Gretna Green together?! And this chapter is extra long, because I did not want you guys to think that Vegeta would be left completely out of the loop of this newest development. I want you to still have hope that he will know about what is going on…question is, will he be fast enough to stop them?

Dun, dun, duhhhhh!

Okay, I'm going to go back to writing now (and stop writing stupid author's notes)—let me know what you thought as usual!


	29. The Crisis Omnibus

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ, there would have been so much more romance. And love triangles. And declarations of love in rainy settings, as the music swells…Yeah, it's probs best I don't own it.

Warnings: Cussing (always. You should know that)

A/N: So the last chapter—it has the most reviews I have every gotten on any single chapter. You have no idea how humbled and grateful that makes me for all of my readers and reviewers, old and new. If I haven't said it enough, I love you all, every single one of you. The fact that a simple chapter could incite so much passion in you guys has me amazed—I'm almost afraid to keep going since I know some of you are going to disappointed, while other's are going to be doing fist-pumps, yelling "I knew it!" Also, thank you to anyone who is reviewing for the first time, you have no idea how happy it makes me that you would take the time just to say good job. Or how high of a compliment I consider it when you say you haven't slept in four days b/c you were reading my story…Seriously. I have the best story readers. EVER.

As usual, thank you to Lilpumpkingirl who gives this story the extra polish it always needs!

Okay, enough with the author's notes…on to the story!

(And I'm still trying to bring omnibus into your daily lexicon. Deal with it! (Hee hee))

Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Crisis Omnibus

Vegeta had his hands up protecting his face, ducking and swaying, trying to avoid getting punched in the face by Piccolo as he panted, sweat dripping off of his brow. He did not know why, but sometime in the last few weeks workouts with Piccolo had been taken up a notch. Vegeta was having a hard time keeping up with the Indian on their twice-weekly meetings. Hell, Vegeta was having a hard time keeping up with Nappa—truth be told—but he would rather die a slow painful death than admit that to anyone. He had not even bothered to challenge Kakarrot over these last few weeks as he was sure it would just be an embarrassing ass-handing for him, and Vegeta still had his pride, dammit.

Well, his pride when it came to fighting. It was hard to say you were being prideful when a short, curvy blue-haired woman could have you diving for the closest doors you could find whenever you caught even a scent of her. No matter that those doors sometimes led to closest or very, _very_, surprised servants. But Vegeta was mindful enough of himself to admit that even just being around Bulma weakened his defenses when it came to his decision to cast her out of his life. For his own good. Or so he kept telling himself, even though 'for his own good,' was starting to seem like it was doing him absolutely no good. He was not eating right, he had stopped sparring as much—hell—he had even stopped training, his spy work falling by the wayside as Zhelonie proved more and more slippery. Vegeta felt like he needed a break. A break from being him. From being the Duke of Vegetasei, with all that entailed, from the man who had an agenda to get his revenge, finally, on those that had wronged him, for the spy who was constantly thinking five steps ahead. Just for one day.

He would kill for that one day. Hell, he had even found himself fantasizing what that one day would be. It was getting harder and harder to admit that Bulma would not be a large part of that day. Bulma and a large, four-poster bed that had the comfiest mattress anyone had ever made. He was no spring chicken anymore (what with being past the age of thirty now), and he was not afraid to admit that actually having sex with Bulma in a bed (rather than a couch, or outside) sounded like some sort of unbelievable fantasy that he needed to come true.

His daydreams of Bulma on a bed, her welcoming thighs parted for him invitingly, were rudely forced out of his head with one forceful right jab to the temple, which succeeded in knocking all thoughts (Bulma related or no) out of his head. When Vegeta could see again after that hit, when the room stopped spinning and he stopped cursing every deity he could think of, he was taken aback to realize that Piccolo was no longer fighting with him, instead just curiously watching him. Catching the Duke's eyes, Piccolo gave a respectful bow before taking a step back, turning to move to the side of the ring they had been training in. Vegeta stood, puzzled, wiping sweat off of his brow, and breathing hard as he stared at the retreating man's back.

"Do you have to leave?"

Piccolo looked back over his shoulder at Vegeta as one of Korin's trainers untaped his hands from the gloves they were currently in, his eyebrow quirked as he watched Vegeta. "No, but _you _are done fighting for the day."

Vegeta frowned, pushing away from the ropes he had been crowded between, standing erect, his gloves on his hips as he frowned at the other man. No one had a right to tell Vegeta when he was done—only Vegeta said when he was done! His tone was glacial as he quietly asked, "What do you mean I am done for the day?"

Piccolo sighed, flexing his hands once his gloves were off, turning back around to observe Vegeta with that quiet serenity that seemed to inhabit the Indian whenever he was not fighting. His tone was neutral as he explained. "You have been off your game for the last couple of weeks, and are too unfocused to really provide me with a challenge. I will not continue to spar with you when neither of us is getting anything good out of it."

Vegeta flinched at that accusation as if he had been physically struck again but said nothing, knowing it was the truth. Hell, had he not been just thinking nearly the same thing? It was just that much worse coming out of someone else's mouth. He guessed it was time to admit that ever since he had made the decision to cut Bulma out of his life, to stop her from infecting the wound she had already cast on his persons, Vegeta had been off. On everything. He was grumpier, moodier, and surlier, could not focus, and just generally walked around feeling miserable. Which he took out on everyone around him.

Piccolo was not done talking though, as he continued, pointing behind Vegeta, "Also, there is someone here for you."

Vegeta turned, his frown deepening as he saw Nappa standing, waiting for him, wondering how much his second had just seen. Knowing Nappa, everything, though the older man would have to be incredibly foolhardy (or drunk) to bring it up. Vegeta's tone was strict as he frowned at the bald man. "Nappa? What are you doing here?"

Nappa was holding his hat in his hands, his fingers curling in and out of the soft fabric as he spoke, belying his nervousness. "I think it would be best if I told you in private, your Grace."

Piccolo seeing his cue gave another small bow, saying, "I will let you guys have the room," before taking Korin's trainers with him as he exited, shutting the doors behind him.

Vegeta stuck his still gloved hands out, and Nappa obediently started to take the tape off as he spoke. Nappa wasted no time in launching into his tale, though his eyes did not meet Vegeta's, clueing Vegeta in to how nervous he was. "I was in the stables, your Grace, and I overheard Kakarrot and that bald midget speaking." Vegeta stared at him waiting for him to continue, hoping that this was not just a gossip session Nappa felt needed to be shared as soon as possible. Even Nappa was not as foolish as that. No way. Nappa finally met Vegeta's eyes once he pulled off the first glove. "He's running away."

Vegeta pulled the second glove off ripping the tape off of his exposed skin, taking some hair with it as a large _rrrrrriipppppp_ rented the air. He hardly noticed the missing hair or skin though, instead shouting, "WHAT?! Where in the fuck does he think he's going?!"

Nappa gulped wishing he was done with his tale, what with the way Vegeta's whole face had shot to a shade of red, his nostrils flaring, his whole body tensing, also knowing Vegeta would like the next part even less. And Vegeta angry meant that he would lash out, and lashing out usually meant that Nappa walked around with a broken rib, a black eye or a split lip—undeservedly so!—for the next few weeks. So could anyone blame him for hedging the truth a bit as he took a step away from the ring? "He left about two hours ago…he said he was going to Gretna Green, then he was going to head back to America."

Vegeta who had been cracking his knuckles threateningly, stopped, his dark eyes meeting Nappa's, the fire that had been absent these past few weeks flaring in the dark depths. It was times like this that even Nappa had to admit that Vegeta's nickname, the Dark Duke, was well earned. Vegeta's voice was soft, though that did not take away from the real threat that was in his words as he questioned, "Gretna Green?…Why would he…That is for people who intend to elope…." He froze, realization in his eyes, his voice subarctic when he spoke next, "Who is he running off with? Some unsuitable woman, I'm sure."

Nappa gulped, taking a small step away, so he could duck easier when he said the next part. He waited a second too long, Vegeta's head cocking towards him, his hands already in fists as Nappa unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth to admit, "Bulma."

Vegeta reacted quicker than Nappa was expecting, but not in the way he expected. Vegeta was already outside of the ring going towards the changing rooms when he yelled over his shoulder, "Have Midnight prepared as soon as I get home in five minutes. I will need a traveling bag, and I need you to make sure it is full of food and water. I am not stopping until I catch them!" Vegeta froze as he reached the closed door, his hand on the handle as he turned around, his black eyes blazing, looking more alive than Nappa had seen him look in weeks -hell- months. "You will tell no one of this, and especially not the dowager. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Nappa shocked that all of his body parts were intact, only nodded, letting out a slow breath he had not realized he was holding as Vegeta left the room, and then turned tail and ran back the way he had just come. He was shocked he had made it out of the boxing arena without getting hit, or at the very least verbally abused, but he was not going to stand around waiting for Vegeta to change his mind either. Not even he was that thick.

* * *

><p>Krillin stood just outside of the Saiyan Halls kitchen, wringing his hands, waiting for Chi-Chi to come out like some sort of villain in a bad play. His afternoon had definitely taken a turn for the weird, ever since Goku had come to him that afternoon to let him know that him and Bulma would be getting married. Goku…and Bulma…married?! Krillin still had the hardest time trying to picture it. They were siblings in his mind, and even though he knew they were not blood related, those two acted exactly like any other brother and sister pair would. To imagine them now as husband and wife? It was just too weird for comprehension. In fact, his brain kept putting up roadblocks whenever he tried to imagine them doing anything more lascivious than holding hands or hugging.<p>

_Thank you brain_, he thought, _I owe you one. I promise not to take any head shots the next time I fight someone_.

Now he was stuck waiting like Goku had asked, giving them a four hour head start, basically trying to find anything and everything to occupy his mind, the same mind that was racing and unable to focus on any one activity. He kept expecting Vegeta, or Nappa, or the dowager even (who he thankfully only knew by reputation) to jump out at him and flay him alive for keeping this secret from them. The only good news was that this distraction was keeping his mind from wandering, as it so often did when he had too much time to think ever since he had come to England, to Eighteen. For once he was too distracted to be completely caught up in his morose thoughts of her.

So far today, he had already found Dr. and Mrs. Briefs delivering the news to them that their children had run off together to get married, leaving them in their stunned silence before either of them could pounce on him for further information. Not that he had much…or any really…further information to give, but still, he did not want to have to be there to see how the Briefs' would react. Probably not too horribly, as they were rather laid back parents, especially in respect to Bulma and Goku's upbringing, but Krillin feared more for Mrs. Briefs reaction once she realized she had been robbed of planning a wedding. Now there was a hissy fit he was not upset to be missing.

He was kicking around outside, watching every single person who used the door that led from the servants quarters to the kitchen, knowing this was his best chance of getting Chi-Chi alone so he could talk to her. It was not like he had Goku's easygoing charm (_or his title_, Krillin though without even a trace of bitterness, which spoke magnitudes about how far his and Goku's relationship had progressed since they first met, both pupils of Master Roshi) to just waltz into the kitchens and seek the woman out. In fact, despite Goku's quite close relationship with the woman, Krillin had only spoken to Chi-Chi a handful of times, but he knew the woman was unlikely to leave the kitchen before dinner was completely served (unless the kitchen was on fire, but even then he was not so sure). Instead of waiting in the bushes all night, he had sent one of the scullery maids downstairs with the news that he wanted to speak to her out in the gardens with regards to Goku's food dislikes.

If this woman knew Goku as much as Krillin suspected she did then she would easily be able to realize that Goku had no food dislikes, and that Krillin desperately needed to speak with her alone. If they were in the gardens at least they would be away from the kitchens, and Krillin would feel like they were on more even ground. Not that he thought they were on uneven ground—just that…well, he was not sure how Chi-Chi was going to react to what he had to tell her, and maybe she did not want an audience. He had heard Goku speak about how much time he spent in the kitchens with this woman, and while his best friend might not realize the signs, Krillin did. Chi-Chi felt some sort of claim on him, or some sort of connection to Goku. If Krillin's suspicions were correct, she would be less than pleased to hear he had run off to marry some other woman.

Well, his suspicions must be correct if even clueless Goku had asked him to apologize to this woman for him.

Krillin continued to wring his hands, waiting for her to come out of the kitchen, wondering where she was, when his thoughts began to drift again to the thought of returning home soon, if all went according to Goku's plan. Krillin was not naive enough to think that returning home would make it just like it had been before—too much had happened to all of them, for them to go back to how it once was. In fact, the thought of going back to America, back to his old life, did not thrill Krillin as much as he hoped it would. The more he thought about it, the queasier he got.

Sure, going home meant that he could at least stop feeling like he was inferior because he was here as Goku's valet and not his second, and it meant he could return to his life as a paid boxer (which, dammit, he was pretty fucking good at)…but leaving England also meant leaving behind Eighteen. Things between them were estranged at the moment, but he always had those few seconds to look at her as a footman before she entered a party that kept him (pathetically) going. To actually leave London meant he would have to give even those up, meaning that he would never see her again.

He shuddered at that thought.

As if on cue, dragging him from his progressively deeper and deeper thoughts, Krillin saw Chi-Chi finally come above ground, frowning at him as she wiped her hands on her apron. She looked more like a general being torn from battle than the head cook in that moment, her face imposing, her manner overbearing, but Krillin forced himself to stand tall. He motioned her over to him, before disappearing behind a bush, finding a bench to stand by as she followed him.

She looked even more frustrated at being forced to follow him, and as she approached she ignored his gesture to sit, standing with her legs spread, her arms crossed, and a large frown on her face as she queried, "Ye sent fer me?"

Krillin nodded, gulping, trying to find the willpower to speak, but instead he only motioned, futilely, for her to sit again. She did not. Instead, her face grew even more pinched, and Krillin gulped again, trying to get some moisture into his suddenly dry windpipe. Why was this so much harder to say to her than it was to the Briefs?

Finally, just when it seemed like Chi-Chi was about to give up and walk away, Krillin forced out in an extremely strangled voice, "I have a message from Goku."

The change in her was instantaneous, and it only sunk Krillin's stomach further. Her eyes brightened, and she smiled, her face going from pinched and harried to eager and bright. "A message? From Goku? Where is 'e?"

"He couldn't be here."

Chi-Chi's happiness turned to confusion. "He couldnna be here?" She blew out a frustrated breath, throwing her hands up. "Where is 'e then?"

Krillin forced himself to stay in a neutral stance, and to make direct eye contact when he spoke next. "Goku wanted me to pass along the message…well he wanted me to tell you, so you would not have to find out from someone else…." He stopped for a moment, a deep breath, before he told her in his most serious voice, "He's getting married."

Chi-Chi, who had been staring at the bald man in front of her, who she had only talked to him once or twice in the whole of his time at Saiyan Manor, suspiciously, felt her face fall, her heart and stomach not far behind it. Whatever filter she usually had between her mouth and her brain was gone as she cried out, unable to affect the thick Scottish accent she had perfected, "WHAT?! HOW COULD HE DO THIS TO ME?! DIDN'T EVEN HAVE THE DECENCY TO TELL ME HIMSELF! THAT FUCKING BASTARD!"

Krillin put his hand behind his head, unconsciously copying Goku, which served to further feed Chi-Chi's rage (unbeknownst to the poor messenger). His voice, at the very least, was sincere, though it barely pricked through the anger that Chi-Chi was currently feeling. "No, Chi-Chi…it's not like that! Goku's a good guy—he just had to leave before he could tell anyone, since, well, he's marrying Bulma, and they thought it would be best if they were far away by the time people discovered what they were doing so they couldn't stop them."

Chi-Chi's rage disappeared as quickly as it came once she heard who Goku was marrying, confusion replacing as she latched onto the only information she could really process in Krillin's statement. "His sister?"

Krillin nodded, and at that, Chi-Chi let out a soft, "Oh," before she sank to the bench, staring up at him with wide eyes, pleading for more information as she said (carefully making sure he accent was back in place), "If 'e's marryin' 'er, 'e must have a good reason then….He said he dinna love her like that."

Krillin took the spot next to her on the bench, putting his arm around her, not knowing what else to do. The woman had changed from an angry harpy to a sad, dejected creature, right before his eyes, and the male in him, and the part of Goku that had long ago rubbed off on Krillin, wanted to comfort her, to make her feel better. His voice was sure as he said, "He must…you know Goku. He would do anything for those that he loved."

Chi-Chi nodded, staring ahead at nothing, her face going whiter by the moment. Krillin just hugged her closer, smiling at her, "Goku also wanted me to tell you that he will miss your cooking."

Chi-Chi, who had let herself get drawn, numbly, into the warmth of Krillin's arms, pulled back, looking at Krillin, tears forming in her eyes as his words sunk in. "'E said that?"

Krillin nodded, and continued as he delivered the rest of Goku's message, a small smile on his face. "He also wanted me to tell you that he's sorry things could not be different between you two."

At that Chi-Chi's tears started to slide down her cheek, her mouth opening in a soft 'oh,' as a gasp of air escaped her lips. Chi-Chi was not a loud crier, instead her pain written extremely well on her face as two streams of water sliced down her cheeks, and that broke Krillin's heart even more. Without thinking too much, Krillin pulled her back into the comfort of his arms, awkwardly wishing that Goku could have asked anyone but him to do this task. Krillin could not even handle the woman he was in love with, let alone the woman who was in love with his best friend. All he could do was hold her close and pat her back, not saying anything, but trying to give her some small measure of comfort in his arms.

* * *

><p>After Krillin had left them behind in the blue room (the room Dr. and Mrs. Briefs had taken to having their tea in) they both sat in stunned silence for a long beat. Neither moved for a long while, besides the astonished blinking of their eyes, before Bunny completely dropped her teacup, uncaring of the spilled liquid on the carpet.<p>

"Oh my!"

Dr. Briefs shook himself out of his thoughts at his wife's words, looking at her, his mouth working up and down, open and close, before he finally closed it, letting out a very small, "Well…."

It seemed that the Briefs were both in shock. A very rare feat to be sure, especially since they were both shocked into silence. It was a shame neither of their children were there to comment on the fact, but seeing as it was their children's decision to get married that had left them in such a state, maybe it was for the best.

Bunny seemed to rouse herself from her stupor long enough to close her mouth and open her eyes just enough to stare down at the cup she had dropped, sighing at the sure to be brown stain on the Aubusson carpet. The dowager would not be pleased about this, but Bunny had not come back to England to try and please the old coots like the dowager. Realizing that her thoughts were drifting from what the actual issue was, Bunny opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and stood, walking to the door that was open, sighing as she closed it, before she returned to the couch, sitting closer to her husband.

Trying to find the appropriate words for this situation but feeling herself floundering, again, Bunny only said what came to mind first, "I guess our children are getting married."

Dr. Briefs stroked his chin at her words, frowning as he hmm'd. He turned to look at Bunny as she leant into him, putting his arm around her as he spoke, "I guess so." Another silence, before he admitted, "I did not think they even loved each other like that. People warned me that taking in a boy so close in age to Bulma was just asking for bad things to happen. But Goku was just so innocent, and Bulma adopted him as her little brother so quickly I never thought…."

Bunny put a hand on his leg, shaking her head against his shoulder as she sat up, speaking authoritatively, "Oh no, dear, don't worry. I don't think it's like that at all. They don't love each other like that. They really only see each other as brother and sister."

Dr. Briefs let out a breath, deflating with relief as he spoke, "Oh thank Kami. I don't think I could handle seeing them in that light. They'll always be my children, no matter what, but to imagine them as truly husband and wife…." He trailed off before he sat straighter, biting his thumb, thinking. Bunny could almost see the cogs and gears behind his eyes turning as he spoke aloud. "Well if it's not because they're madly in love and are trying to avoid our wrath, what could it be? What could cause them to run off to Gretna Green of all places without telling us? And why would they think they could not tell us?"

Bunny shook her head sighing as she crossed her arms, trying to think. "I don't know. I wish they had told us themselves. If they really do get married tonight, I wish I could be there for my children." Bunny waited in silence again, frowning, before she spoke what she was thinking. They had been married long enough that Bunny knew that speaking what she was thinking through with her husband would help them decipher what her sometimes muddled thoughts were. "It's odd though. Goku and Bulma have always been close, yes, but I really thought Bulma and Vegeta were getting close ever since he returned from France. They can't seem to stay away from each other…Well until Bulma sprained her ankle. Bulma and him have both been super moody, and I have not seen them together at all. Hmm…."

Dr. Briefs studied her as she looked off at nothing, quirking his head. "Do you think that has something to do with it?"

Bunny frowned, swallowing hard at just where her thoughts had taken her. "Well, I-I wonder if something happened between them. The only reason I could imagine that Goku would marry Bulma would be because she's…she's…well, that she's—"

Her husband surprised her by cutting her off, already a few steps ahead of Bunny. "Pregnant."

Bunny looked at him, her hand squeezing his knee, as she gave him a sad smile. "You thought the same thing?"

Dr. Briefs shrugged, looking down at her, covering her hand with his own and squeezing it back. "I spoke to Goku a few weeks ago about how he would have to help protect and take care of Bulma when we left…all I can think is that Bulma has found herself with a baby that the father does not want. I know Goku would do the right thing and stand by his sister, offering her protection. We raised both of our children right."

Bunny gasped, snapping her fingers. "That must be it." Her face fell though as she continued, "Oh poor Bulma. I wish she would have told us. Surely she knows we would have loved her and taken care of her no matter what."

Dr. Briefs sighed, going back to stroking his chin, knowing that while that was true and that in no way, shape or form, did this change how much he loved his daughter, that life was never that simple. "We would have, but the truth of the matter is that our protection, our money, our reputation—they would not be enough for an unmarried pregnant woman."

Bunny scooted away from him, so she could look into his eyes. "Honey?"

Dr. Briefs met her with his own, reaching for her cheek as he tried to explain. "I'm not saying we would not have loved and cared for Bulma any differently because she has had a child out of wedlock—but it would not have stopped the gossiping and name calling Bulma and this child would have to endure for the rest of their life." He grew angry thinking about the future Bulma would have had to face if she did indeed have a child out of wedlock. "All that Bulma has worked for in the science and industry field would have been for naught—we both know people are always looking to take Bulma down, dumb her down, say she is not as pretty and as smart as she really is. If she had come back to America with a babe and no husband…she would have given them enough ammo to last them a lifetime." He forced himself to calm down a little as he spoke next, "Goku will be able to provide her with a life, as a husband, someone to help her raise this child, and protection from societies questions and judgment. If whoever got her pregnant is not going to offer for her—Goku did the right thing."

Bunny frowned, an unusual motion for her, but she sighed, leaning back into her husband. "Oh, I suppose you are right. It does not make it any easier to accept though." She waited a beat before throwing her arms wide. "Just think of the wedding we could have thrown them!"

Dr. Briefs tried to smile, letting out a chuckle, but went back to frowning at the wall far too quickly, his thoughts focused on his son and daughter. He hoped that they would be okay, glad to have raised such strong children, but wishing that they had trusted their parents…who knew problems they would run into on their way to Gretna Green.

* * *

><p>Eighteen could not believe she was doing this. She could not believe she was here, at her ex-lover's London residence, a place she never dared go unless invited over for a party, or for tea, looking for a man who she had never even kissed. And what was worse was that she had entered the property at the side, hidden entrance, praying that no one had seen her. She had already tried the more direct route of coming through to see Krillin by seeing Bulma, but that visit had been…well it had been odd to say the least. Bulma had been far too shrewd for her liking, and though Eighteen had thought that the two of them were getting along, Bulma must have heard something when she came back with the cook that turned her downright frosty towards Eighteen.<p>

If Eighteen had to guess, it probably had something to do with the affair she had had with Vegeta, but Eighteen was too preoccupied with her own romantic entanglements (or lack thereof!) to really care about analyzing someone else's. Plus, her reason for visiting Bulma in the first place, to at least see Krillin, even from afar, had been futile, and now she was forced to take more direct measures to see him. This was ridiculous. It had been far too long since she had laughed or smiled, and she could not drum up any enthusiasm about any other men, and she was becoming way too maudlin and moody in her day-to-day life. She preferred being unemotional to this current mess she was feeling, but it seemed she could not control her feelings as simply as that.

The truth of the matter was that she missed Krillin.

She missed him enough to risk her reputation, to risk her good name (or what was left of it), all just simply to see him, and to apologize. She could not change her actions of that night, that horrible night, but she could…she could apologize.

Even thinking the word had her feeling clammy—she was not good at apologizing. She had not had to hold herself accountable to many people since Gero passed all those years ago, and so she did not need to apologize for her actions all that often. But with Krillin…she needed to. She needed him to know that she did not feel right about what had happened between them, about how she treated him and just how much she had missed him. Also—WHY THE HELL WOULD HE NOT SEE HER ANYMORE?!

But no, she had to keep reminding herself that she should not go to him, yelling and screaming, like any other woman who was being ignored by the man she had feelings for would. She needed to remain calm and composed, like she always did. Eighteen was not an overly emotional person on the outside, even if her inner thoughts were a maelstrom, and she would always remain that way. When did yelling and screaming ever get her anything?

Which is exactly what she should have reminded herself the second she rounded the back gardens, finding herself staring at Krillin as he held a slight woman with black hair to him, the two of them entwined on a bench, oblivious to anything or anyone else around them.

Before she could stop herself, Eighteen found herself screaming, "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

Krillin's head popped up from the woman's shoulder, his eyes going wide as he saw just who was in front of him, screaming at him. He was relieved for a second to see that it was not a member of Vegeta's staff that would surely get him and Chi-Chi in trouble for behaving so, but then he was hit with confusion and a little bit of resentment as he recognized the beautiful woman was currently glaring at him. "Eighteen?!"

Eighteen crossed her arms, forcing herself not to reach for him to throttle him as the other woman pulled away from Krillin, keeping her back to Eighteen as she stomped closer to the two. She was able to keep her voice down a bit more, though she could not keep out the anger or the accusations as she ranted, "Who the hell is this Krillin? Is she why you wouldn't kiss me?! Because you already had some tramp waiting for you at home?!"

The other woman turned, and Eighteen felt a flush of embarrassment at her words, especially as she recognized that it was the cook she had gotten the recipes off of the last time she had been here, though she knew it was too late to take them back. The other woman kept Eighteen's eyes locked with her own, drawing the force of her anger especially as the cook stood, cocking her fist. "No one calls me a tramp!"

Krillin's eyes bulged, standing quickly, going between the two women, sensible enough not to touch either of them women in that moment. "Chi-Chi, Eighteen! Calm down—this is all just a misunderstanding!"

Eighteen let out a hollow laugh, "I find you holding another woman and you try and tell me it's a SIMPLE MISUNDERSTANDING?!"

Chi-Chi glared, cracking her knuckles. "I dinna care if you are above me in class! Keep yellin' at Krillin like that and accusin' me of nasty things when all he was trying to do was be nice and I will show you just how my father taught me to take care of people like you!"

Krillin's head was turning red, especially as it whipped between the two women trying to keep track of just exactly who was angrier, before he turned towards the part in the hedges that led to the garden at large. He was sure that the yelling of the two women was soon going to be drawing some attention, and that if someone stumbled upon this scene it would not do well for either of the women's reputations. "Chi-Chi, no! Eighteen is just angry! Please, please…just let me talk to her."

Chi-Chi growled, baring her teeth to Eighteen, but she nodded. "Let me ken if she does need to be put in her place. I 'ave no problems attacking this blue-blood." Eighteen bared her teeth right back, but crossed her arms, resisting the urge she had to hiss at the younger woman.

Krillin nodded, his face still bright red. "I, uhm, I thank you. But I don't think that will be necessary."

Eighteen, whose arms were tightening around her body at the easy way these two spoke to each other, was glaring at the both of them trying to decide who she wanted to kill first, and who she wanted to kill more. She waited, though, until Chi-Chi was gone around a hedge, before she turned back to Krillin, absolutely furious. "Just what in the hell is going on here Krillin? Is this why you've been ignoring me this last month?!"

Krillin stared at her, mouth agape, looking incredulous at Eighteen even as he stood before her, palms out. His voice was hurt when he spoke next, "How can you possibly think that about me Eighteen?"

Something about the sad way he was looking and speaking to her had Eighteen's anger temper, though she could not help but ask him, "Then why Krillin? Why haven't you come to any of the parties?"

Krillin's head ducked, his voice low as he answered her. "We both know the reason I haven't seen you in a month was because the last time I saw you, you ripped my heart out of my chest and tore it into little shreds."

At his softly spoken words, the force of guilt, weighing about ten tons, knocked her straight back, and Eighteen let out a soft, "Oh." His words hit her like a sharp jab right in the solar plexus, taking the air from her lungs. Yes, the reason she had come was to apologize, and that was exactly what she should be doing right now…but to hear the words from him, so soft and deadly…it made her remember the way he had stared at her that night.

Unblinking, Eighteen went to the bench and sat on it, dejected, looking at nothing in particular as she softly said, "You're right."

Krillin, hating to see any person looking so dejected, and feeling his heart break when he realized it was the woman he would always be in love with, even if he never saw her again after today, went to her, ready to make it better. He moved so he was next to her on the bench, putting his hand on her forearm, trying to get her to look at him. "Hey, Eighteen. What's going on? Why are you even here? You know nothing is going on with Chi-Chi and I. She was just sad and I was trying to comfort her." He gave her a smile, chuckling, "I'm a nice guy, remember?"

Eighteen turned to him, her eyes large and unblinking as she said without too much forethought, "You are a nice guy, and Krillin…I've missed you. I can't stand how you last saw me, I hate being that woman around you. I like who I am with you. No one else but you knows the truth about me, knows the real me. No one has ever cared as much as you have to find out. Krillin…I want to find a way for us to work. I need to find a way that I can still see you. I…." She paused, wondering if the she could say the next words out loud, words she had never said before and took a deep breath before looking him in the eyes, saying instead, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to see that, and I'm sorry I treated you that way."

Krillin gave her a sad sort of smile, his eyes locking into hers. "Thank you. I know how hard it is for you to apologize for anything. Now come here." He pulled her into a hug, bringing her head to his shoulder as he rubbed her back. His words were soft, only loud enough for her to hear, as he whispered in her ear, "Kami, Eighteen, I've missed you too. I don't like when I can't see you."

Eighteen held him closer, breathing in the warmth of the short man in front of her, wondering just what she had done to deserve someone so nice. His next words were spoken sort of louder, as he said, "And I…well…Eighteen, I love you."

Her eyes grew wide as she pulled back from him, her mouth opening, and she whispered, hardly daring to believe it, "You do?"

He chuckled, turning a bright red, as he started to rub the back of his head with his hand. "Of course I do. You're kind, and nice, and you make me laugh, and you're sweet…and you are the most beautiful woman I have ever known."

Words of her beauty did nothing to Eighteen's reserved exterior or interior, but the compliments before that, words such as _kind_ and _nice_ and _sweet_, they were as foreign to her as love was. Her eyes grew even larger, and she had no idea how vulnerable she looked in that moment, or even all of the emotions in Krillin she was awakening. "I am?"

"Yes."

The single word, that affirmation, did more to life her spirits than anything ever had before in her life, and Eighteen felt herself smile, really smile at Krillin as she pulled him back to her, her hands going to his face as she said without hesitation, "I love you too. Oh Kami, I do. I love you."

His own face broke out into a resounding grin and before he could stop himself he had pulled her close, and there, on the bench where they had first spent the whole night talking (though neither of them realized it at the time) Krillin and Eighteen shared their first kiss.

* * *

><p>Vegeta arrived in Gretna Green sore, cranky, tired, angry, and thanks to the lovely weather he had encountered on the way too damn long horse ride up here, wet. Which only served to fuel the anger, the crankiness, the tiredness, and the soreness. Not that he let any of those emotions, or indeed, the other hundred that had turbulently running through him since the second Nappa had told him just who indeed Kakarrot had run away with show as he swiftly slid from his horse, his boots carrying him further into the courtyard of the inn he was praying that Bulma and Kakarrot were in. There were not that many in the small border town of Gretna Green, but still, the longer it took for him to find them, the more uneasy he had grown.<p>

Time was of the essence here, he needed to be sure to stop this wedding. It only took a few minutes for a ceremony to take place in Gretna Green, and though he was sure that Kakarrot and Bulma could not be that far ahead of him (they had been in a carriage, he had changed horses three times all to make sure that he never lost speed), he did not like to think about what would happen if he was too late.

The whole ride up here, he had had time to think, loads of time to think as his horses' hooves had pounded the roads, and Vegeta did not like what he found. Yes, part of him was riding up here at top speed to make sure that Kakarrot would not marry an American heiress with no title, since she would one day by the Duchess of Vegetasei, and yes, he was riding up here to curb gossip before Kakarrot's flight up here became known and shame was brought on the Vegetasei household…but the largest part of him had been the one who was howling at him to go after her, to get her, to get his woman.

When Nappa had admitted earlier that it was Bulma who was running off with Kakarrot, Vegeta had felt something in him come alive, some part of him that he had thought dead ever since the night he had decided to walk away from Bulma. The animalistic part of him that roared that she was his and his alone and that no other man could ever or would ever have her again. It had roared loudly in his head, speeding him to the house and back, it had roared at him to change horses the second his own became too slow, and again a few hours later, when the rented one had grown fatigued. It roared at him when he stopped, telling him to keep going, it roared at him to check every damn hotel in Gretna Green until he found them.

This roaring, clawing fury was new to him, this need to possess another human being so completely foreign to him he had almost been scared by it. But he had not been confused. It made sense. Bulma was his woman, and he did not care what her reasons could possibly be for wanting to marry another man. No other man could have her. She was, and would forever be his. He did not care how damn selfish that was. It was the simple truth.

Vegeta entered the inn, his face as calm as a lake on a windless day, basking in the dry warmth of the room for a second before the fury had reared his head, and he had made his way to the woman serving food. She turned to him as she finished putting some food down in front of some other customers, a ready smile on her face. It flickered when she saw who was coming towards her, Vegeta sure that even his still face held a hint of the anger he felt inside. But she was professional as she greeted him, "Hello sir, welcome te Gretna Green, can I get ye a room?"

Vegeta took out some coins and passed them to her, noting the greedy way her eyes lit up. "No, what you can get me is some answers."

The woman looked at the coin before nodding as she wiped her hands on her apron, hiding the coins in it. "How can I help ye?"

Vegeta folded his arms against his chest, putting on what he knew was his most intimidating face. Not that it was hard, what with the turbulence of emotions he was feeling. His voice brooked no argument as he stated, "I'm looking for a man and a woman, both American. The woman has bright blue hair, the man tall with black hair, and they would be staying together. Do you have anyone of that sort in your inn?"

The woman's eyes were calculating as she took in Vegeta's stern expression, weighing it against the fine cut of his clothes, the obvious expensiveness of his boots, the quality of his coat. He could almost hear the greed in her mind racking up the prices she was going to charge him for information, and her words were no surprise. "Hmm…I sees a lots of people coming round 'ere. I canna really remember anyone like tha'…maybe some more coin to help my memory?"

Vegeta was too tired, sore, cranky, angry and wet to try and bribe this woman more, and he had to stop himself from grabbing for her as he growled out, "I do not have time for this!"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well then I canna remember seeing them. Sorry—."

Her words were cut off as Vegeta heard his name being called from the stairs of the dining room, his eyes and the waitresses, and everyone else's in the room swinging to the bottom of the stairs. There stood Kakarrot, his back straight, his voice soft but stern as he cut the waitress off. "Vegeta. I was not expecting you."

Vegeta took in the taller man, the way his mouth was set in a firm line, his hard eyes sparking flames, and Vegeta left the server in the corner, instead going to his cousin, his own voice soft, "Then you underestimated me."

Kakarrot tilted his head, examining him, and muttered, "Perhaps I did. What exactly are you doing here?"

Vegeta's jaw tightened, his fists clamping, his anger coursing through him as the rage returned. It was roaring at him to kill, to maim, blood be damned, Kakarrot had dared to run away with Bulma—Vegeta wanted him punished. But instead he kept his voice deadly as he answered, "What do you think I'm doing here. I'm here to stop you from ruining the family name by marrying an American."

Goku's own mouth grew thinner, his face clouding over. "I see. So you are not here to see Bulma?"

_Of course I am_. Vegeta kept that thought to himself, instead tossing his head, snorting. "No. This has nothing to do with Bulma, and everything to do with you."

Goku only stared at him, his hard eyes blackening further, enhancing his resemblance to his departed father as he stared at Vegeta for a few moments in silence. "Come with me. We need to speak in private."

Vegeta hated being ordered around, but since Kakarrot had yet to reveal where Bulma was or if they were married yet, he followed Kakarrot outside, through the rain drenched courtyard, into an empty stable. As soon as they were inside of the lit area, dry, Vegeta spoke, "Kakarrot, I demand you tell me if you two are wed."

Kakarrot turned to him, an eyebrow raised as he softly asked, yet again, "So you're really not here for Bulma? You're here for me?"

Vegeta only nodded, his patience wearing thin. "I already told you this! I could care less about the woman! Now stop fucking around and tell me if you are married or not!"

Vegeta was expecting an answer from his cousin. What he was not expecting was the sharp right hook that Kakarrot threw at him that hit the still sore spot from his spar with Piccolo from earlier in the day that completely knocked him on his ass.

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, even if I have to admit I'm being evil ending it there—two chapters in a row, ending in cliff-hangers?! But a lot happening in this chapter. Some anger, lots of confusion, and some Krillin and Eighteen sweetness thrown in to…uh…sweeten the whole thing. But honestly, if I had even gone a little bit further this chapter would have ended up forty pages, and nobody wants to read a chapter that long.

Well I have some serious writing to do for the next part, love to you all, and tune in next time for the next exciting installment of the Dark Duke! (I need a theme song for this fic…any rec's?)


	30. Fight! Fight! Fight!

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ I would make sure that Bulma would not have become such a secondary character the more the series went on. I know she could not fight, but that does not make her any less badass!

Warnings: Cussing and some fighting…though does that need a warning? Well it's getting one!

A/N: Okay, thank you to everyone who put up a song idea for this fic—there are some good ones on there, and I recommend my readers listen to them as well. Personally, I love that this story inspires you guys to pick music, as that is one of the highest forms of compliments you guys could have ever paid me!

As always, sorry for the wait, but life, end of the term craziness, and more life. Thank you to my readers and reviewers, and thank you for always pushing me to become a better writer. This story has gotten so much bigger than I would have ever anticipated, and now when I write it, I write it for those of you who have been so great to me as much as I do for me. Also, for those of you who send me PM's, I love you. It might take me forever ever to get back to you with them, but I will always reply to them. Especially when they are as well thought out and amazingly put like your guys' were. Never be afraid to PM me!

Lilpumpkin girl, you continue to rock my socks off. Thank you for that…though you might need to buy me some new socks soon.

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Fight! Fight! Fight!

Vegeta felt his body twist in the direction he had been hit, feeling weightless as he fell, before he heard (and felt) a loud _thump_ as his body hit the hay-strewn ground like a sack of coal. The hay got into his mouth, his nose, and his eyes, the air knocked from his body, leaving him wheezing into the foul smelling wheat. If Vegeta had been at the top of his game—or hell, even just at his normal level—he would have popped back up like the fighter he was. Instead he took a good moment on the ground, his eyes closed, his breath shallow, to assess just what in the hell was going on and to allow the world to stop spinning.

Okay, how had he gotten here? _Here in Scotland, _he thought, _or here on the ground_? Starting with the easier question, he thought back to earlier today. When Nappa had rushed into his fight (or non-fight) with Piccolo, tilting his world completely off-axis with the news that Kakarrot and Bulma had run off together to be wed. From there he had traveled all day at a mad pace to get to Gretna Green, to discover if Bulma and Kakarrot had married. So that took care of getting to Scotland. As for how he had ended up on the ground of a stable in some hotel, that came down to the man in front of him, his very own blood, Kakarrot, who instead of answering his questions—had led him out to the stables and then hit him. Wait. Not just hit him, but also certifiably knocked him out, that vicious right hook going for a dirty hit to the head.

Vegeta's eyes popped up as he finished assessing the situation, a growl starting low in his throat as he slowly got up from the ground. His eyes sought out his cousin, who was staying a good distance away from him, circling Vegeta, his eyes hard as he watched the man on the ground. When Kakarrot saw Vegeta getting up, off of the ground, Kakarrot's hands came up, fisting, looking very much like he was prepared to fight.

Vegeta got back on his feet, his back ramrod straight, his eyes following his cousin as he coldly bit out, "Just what in the hell are you doing Kakarrot? Do you have a death wish?"

Kakarrot moved around him, slowly, but methodically, studying his opponent. His fists stayed close to his face even as he spoke, his voice much deeper than usual as he calmly answered, "Not at all."

Vegeta finally moved, cracking his neck in a swift motion, trying to loosen up his body for what he assumed was going to be a dirty fight. Unfortunately the loud pops and creaks alerted him to the fact that he was still sore from the long hauling-ass ride up here, though he kept the wincing at this fact on the inside as he glowered at his cousin. Usually this look brought people down to their knees around him—Kakarrot just shrugged it off, causing Vegeta's glare to turn frostier, downright glacial. "Then would you care to explain to me why you attacked me?"

Kakarrot took a few steps back as Vegeta moved towards him, keeping the distance between them the same. His voice was still calm as he spoke, pissing Vegeta off even more as he rationally explained, "I can assume that by your arrival here not so long after Bulma and I, Vegeta, that you have quite literally chased us all the way from London." When Vegeta said nothing, only continuing to glare, Kakarrot prompted, "Am I right?"

Vegeta's eyebrows knit together not liking the 'chasing' part of that sentence, but knowing that it was accurate. Still, he kept his voice clinical as he replied, "I came here as quickly as I could, as soon as I heard the news, yes."

"And I can also assume," Kakarrot continued, "Since you have blatantly admitted that you are not here for Bulma, then you are here to stop _me_ from committing what you consider an egregious error by marrying her."

Vegeta confusion at where this was all leading only got further muddled at his cousins seemingly growing vocabulary, (though Vegeta was sure that was just a side effect of being around Bulma all day) though he still answered the question. "I have come to stop you from making a huge mistake by marrying a woman who is untitled and unworthy of the Vegetasei name, and for no other reason!" Vegeta ignored the voices inside of his own head that whispered back to him_, liar_, instead frowning at Kakarrot as if he was the ones who said the words.

Kakarrot's face darkened further, his fists tightening as he said, "Well, Vegeta, I can assure you that I am doing what I consider best. Inside that inn is a woman I love, dearly, and I am not going to leave her for any reason."

Vegeta's confusion turned to fury at his cousin's words, the beast thrashing inside of him again, roaring _mine! Mine! Mine!_ Vegeta felt his own hands fisting as he spoke next, his own body moving of its own volition, staying with his front to Kakarrot as they moved around the stable. His blood started to surge through his sluggish body, waking him up as if the beast itself was taking him over, his muscles started to pound and quiver in anticipation of beating his cousin senseless, his eyes in slits as he told him softly, "Then I will drag you out of here myself, Kakarrot."

Kakarrot surprised him by giving him a dark smile, nodding as if that was exactly what Kakarrot was expecting. "And I cannot allow that to happen, which is why I hit you Vegeta. The only way you will drag me away from here is unconscious, so I hope you have been practicing since the last time we sparred. Because I sure as hell am not leaving Bulma behind if there's even a sliver of consciousness in me," there was a pause, before Kakarrot added, "Unlike some other men."

Vegeta saw something flash in those dark eyes, and at his words, the beast inside of him coiled, baring its fangs at the impertinence of the younger man. Vegeta wondered idly if Kakarrot knew about Bulma and him, but there was no way Kakarrot could know about what had happened between them. That was a secret Vegeta was going to take to his grave, and he knew Bulma would not speak of it to her brother, of all people. The beast inside of him urged Vegeta to tackle, maim, kill, to go straight for the jugular, but Vegeta kept a reign on him as he spoke again, "Before we start, then, answer me one question."

Kakarrot cracked his knuckles together, shaking his neck, before he got back into fighting stance as he stopped circling Vegeta so he was right in front of him. "Perhaps."

Vegeta felt his hackles rise, but he kept his voice even as he asked, one last time, "Are you two already wed?"

Kakarrot surprised him by not only _not_ answering him, but also smirking as he shrugged his shoulders.

He looked downright cocky, and Vegeta's beast growled for blood to show the younger man in front of him who exactly was alpha here, and it certainly was not Kakarrot. But still, Vegeta kept the beast caged for just a little bit longer as he nodded. "So be it Kakarrot. I will take you down, just like you have so badly been asking for since we first fought."

Vegeta considered rushing Kakarrot in that moment, blindsiding his opponent, but he knew that would be fruitless, so instead he took a moment to take his jacket off, folding it (which would limit his movements), which also allowed him the opportunity to survey his surroundings, though it was a pretty standard barn. The area they were in currently was not huge, but it provided a decent enough space for a fight. One that Vegeta would fight with every ounce of his being, as if his very life depended on it. Even if Bulma and Kakarrot were wed already, if he were too late, Vegeta could easily have it annulled by making sure they did not consummate the wedding. No wedding night, no proof of consummation, an easy enough way to make sure the wedding was not legal.

But that was only a short time solution, and he knew he needed to get Kakarrot away from Bulma. And if the only way to do that was to kick his younger cousins ass—then kick his ass he would.

Vegeta felt the soreness, the tiredness melt away from him as his heart started to pound, his fists going up as the two circled each other, eyeing each other, warily, watching, waiting. They had been sparring together for months now, they knew each other as opponents, and so neither was ready to rush into the fight unnecessarily, especially since they knew how evenly matched they were. But Vegeta felt extra adrenaline pumping through his body at that moment, the extra kick he needed to win this fight, and he smirked as he finally let the beast inside of him free, rushing his cousin with a fierce growl.

Kakarrot easily sidestepped, as Vegeta suspected he would, and Vegeta crouched low, sweeping his left leg out behind him, knocking both of Kakarrot's feet from under him.

Kakarrot hit the ground hard, emitting a loud _oomph_ as the air was knocked from his body, and Vegeta popped back up, bringing his foot high as he aimed it for Kakarrot's exposed neck. Kakarrot was quick, though, and by the time Vegeta had let his foot down, he hit nothing but hay as his cousin twisted out of the way, before doing a flip that had him on his feet again.

Vegeta smirked at his cousin from where he stood, his fists back up, before he slowly approached his cousin again. Kakarrot made the first move this time, his lethal right hook coming for Vegeta again, knocking the side of his arm as Vegeta got knocked back. He kept his fists in front of his face as Kakarrot jumped and spun with his left leg out, his body flying towards Vegeta. Vegeta grabbed Kakarrot's ankle as his foot hit him square in the sternum, absorbing most of the hit, but pulling his cousin with him as he flew against the side of the barn, a loud creak sounding as they hit the old wood.

Vegeta shoved his cousin off of him, kicking high, making hard contact with Kakarrot's stomach, knocking his cousin back a few feet as Vegeta approached. This time they both went in for wide punch's at the same time, Vegeta's arm locking around Kakarrot's throat and shoulder, as Kakarrot's wrapped around the back of Vegeta's neck and under his arm. Vegeta wasted no time in throwing his weight into his arm, knocking both of them to the ground. Vegeta tried to use his lower body to pin his cousin down, trying to get his arms free to throw some more punches, or asphyxiate him to the point of being passed out, but Kakarrot had muscle and weight on him, and Vegeta could not keep him still or down.

Kakarrot brought his knees up, quickly, as soon as there was space between their bodies, catching Vegeta in the solar plexus, knocking his cousin off of him, before he popped back to his feet again. Vegeta got on all fours to avoid the kick Kakarrot was aiming towards Vegeta's chest, before he too moved far enough away to stand on his own feet. The pair of them stood about five feet apart, both of them dirty, sweating and panting, bruises already forming on exposed skin, though neither moved in that time. Vegeta watched his cousin, closely, looking for even the smallest sign of weakness, but there was none. Kakarrot was a good fighter, it was the thing Vegeta admired most about his cousin.

But he made it damn hard for Vegeta to try and knock him unconscious.

Plus, it seemed as if Kakarrot was being fueled by his own inner beast as they moved, the younger man changed as they fought. It infuriated Vegeta to imagine that the beast inside of Kakarrot was also trying to stake a claim on Bulma, urging Vegeta to want to tear out his throat with his very own teeth. But if Vegeta and him were physically matched (and they were), Vegeta knew they were both in for a long fight, sure to leave both of them bloodied and broken.

Well if there was anything that sparring with Kakarrot had taught him was that while Kakarrot might have very few physical weaknesses, he did not often engage in fighting as a mental game, and that was where his Achilles heel rested. Vegeta took a few steps back, trying to concentrate only on the need to kill and not the physical pain he was sure to be in, his voice low as he said, "So Kakarrot, why the change in heart?"

Kakarrot kept moving, keeping his body warm as the two circled each other, ready to lunge at any moment it seemed. Still, his voice was curious as he asked, "Change of heart?"

Vegeta kept his voice light, "You think I don't know about everything that goes on in my own damn house, do you?" Vegeta grinned as he saw Kakarrot's eyes go wide, and he gave him a cruel smirk as he continued, "You've been sniffing around the chef ever since you first got to Saiyan Hall—what's the matter, did you grow tired of her? Does she no longer put out to master anymore? Moved on to Bulma now? Decided she was a good enough of a fuck to marry—."

Vegeta did not get to finish that taunt as Kakarrot rushed him, pushing them both out into the rain of the courtyard with a mighty roar. Kakarrot gripped Vegeta around the waist, pushing him to the ground, landing on top of him as he started to throw wild punches, some that landed on Vegeta, some that hit the ground as Vegeta thrashed under him. This was what Vegeta wanted—Kakarrot to blindly attack him, to waste his energy on emotional fighting rather than thinking it through. Kakarrot's voice cracked through the _thud_ of the punches and the pattering of the rain, his voice growing hoarse as he emphasized the punches as he yelled, "You! Don't! Get! To! Talk! About! Them! Like! That!"

Vegeta waited until a punch went too far to the right, and grabbed Kakarrot under the shoulder, flipping them both, so that Vegeta's knee was in Kakarrot's back, his arms around his neck and head, holding him in a sleeper hold. Vegeta kept his arms tight around his cousin, his knee flat as he brought his mouth to his cousin's ear, hissing, "One of them is nothing but a servant, the other is an American who will open her legs for any—"

Kakarrot surprised him by biting Vegeta's arm, the shock causing Vegeta to loosen his grip just enough so that Kakarrot could bring that big head of his knocking right into Vegeta's jaw knocking him completely off guard as he got flipped so he was under Kakarrot again. Rather than continuing to attack like that though, Kakarrot got up, moving away from Vegeta while he yelled at him, "Both of those women have more honor and pride then you ever will, and you should bow down in their presence you asshole!"

Vegeta smirked, as best as he could with his newly rearranged face, though he put his hands back up, ready for another rush. Though it was pounding down rain, neither seemed willing to make the move back into the stables, the dark atmosphere a fitting setting for such a contentious fight. Vegeta's voice was harsh even to his own ears as he continued to speak in a flippant tone, "Please, Kakarrot. Who are you trying to fool with that speech? Are either of those women really worth what will happen to your reputation, your honor? No woman is." Again, unbidden, a surge of guilt washed through him, and that teasing voice whispered again, _liar_.

Kakarrot growled distracting Vegeta from his own thoughts, as his face contorted, a finger pointing accusingly at Vegeta. "What would you know about honor Vegeta? You are as honorless a man as I have ever met!"

Vegeta's smirk turned deadly as he felt his own emotions get caught up in the fight, the beast inside of him quieted by the burning desire he held within himself to always seen as respectable and honorable. His voice was no longer taunting, but harshly edged as he spoke, "Careful where you tread, Kakarrot. I have proven myself over and over as a warrior I have more honor in my right pinkie than you could ever know about."

Kakarrot shook his head, looking disgusted at his cousin, causing Vegeta's anger to soar. Kakarrot's words were almost pitying when he spoke next, causing Vegeta's hackles to rise. "There is more honor in life than just that of a warrior. You have no honor as a person, Vegeta."

Vegeta's snarl was animalistic and unconsciously done, though he no longer had the iron will control over himself he usually prided himself on. "Fuck you Kakarrot! What would you know about me as a person?"

Kakarrot put his fists down, stopping as he stared at him for a good long minute, as if assessing Vegeta, or thinking about what he was going to say— a surprise from Kakarrot. Seeming to have made up his mind about something, Kakarrot straightened, his eyes flashing fiercely as he calmly said, "I know that you would abandon a virgin after bedding her, making no offer for her. Which is dishonorable as they come, Vegeta."

Virgin? What the fuck…. Whatever attack on his character Vegeta had been gearing up for, it was not this, and it caught him off guard as if Kakarrot had struck him. Vegeta's fists went slack, his arms crossing over his chest as he haughtily told him, "You have no idea what you speak of. I have never lain with a virgin."

Wrong thing to say, apparently. Kakarrot's face grew hard, and his mouth tightened as he spoke in a chilly tone that reminded Vegeta that this was his cousin he was fighting, "What of my sister?"

Vegeta could not even process his surprise that Kakarrot knew about Bulma and him, instead slipping into the easy routine of the lie as he went for nonchalance, hoping to convey that he had never slept with Bulma before. "What of her?"

Kakarrot's next attack was a blindside, especially as he had been standing so lax just a moment early. Kakarrot rushed him again, as he crashed into him, forcing Vegeta against the temporary hitching post, the wood groaning in protest as they threw their weight against it. Vegeta was expecting more punches to the face, but instead, Kakarrot grabbed him by the sides of his head and brought his knee up as he smashed Vegeta's head down, over and over. The world started to grow fuzzy, everything spinning as he was repeatedly hit in the face, his brain sloshing around in his skull, though Kakarrot's words were clear as day when he finally released Vegeta, who slumped to his own knees without Kakarrot supporting him. "You're a right fucking bastard you piece of shit!"

If Vegeta had not had all of the air knocked out of him, or so dazed from the repeated head hits, he would have been amazed to hear his cousin, who he had never heard cuss before, cuss so spectacularly well (another side effect of hanging around Bulma all day?). But as it was, Vegeta was too busy trying to remember his own name to even let the words register, though he was pulled from his foggy haze as Kakarrot grabbed the fronts of his shirts, lifting him off the ground, pulling them so they were face to face. His voice was downright chilly, and even Vegeta had to admit he could sense how the import in the words to Kakarrot. "That woman in there is worth _ten_ of you! She is my sister, and you don't get to speak about her like that."

Vegeta was fading, even with the rain and Kakarrot yelling at him, but he managed, "If she's your sister... why...why are you marrying her?"

Kakarrot's eyebrows drew together, his anger palpable as he softly said, "Because I love her, and I will be there for her when she needs me." Kakarrot paused, slowly putting Vegeta on the ground, so he was leaning on the hitching post he had just gotten beat over, his voice even more deadly and serious as he went on, "Especially after you abandoned her."

Vegeta tried to maintain level eye contact, but his head was still swimming and it took effort. He searched Kakarrot's face, seeing that there was no denying to him what just had gone on in between Bulma and himself. He cursed Bulma, wondering why she had felt the need to tell her brother, but knew it would be futile to contradict Bulma's story. No wonder Kakarrot had gotten so mad when Vegeta had tried to deny ever having slept with her. Blame it on the exhaustion, or the fact that even the beast inside of him was too busy being dizzy to shout for blood, but Vegeta told him the truth, "I didn't abandon her." Vegeta winced as he spoke. Okay, well he did abandon her technically, but it was not as if he cast her out of his bed and left her to the wolves, tattering her reputation beyond repair. His next words were earnest, words he had repeated to himself ever since he had turned his back on her the night they had retrieved the list for Basil. "She can still make another match—you do not need to marry her to keep her honor intact. No one will know about what happened between her and I."

Kakarrot shook his head, crossing his arms as he muttered so low Vegeta almost did not catch the words, "You have no clue. You really don't know, do you?"

Vegeta's focus seemed to be returning, and he cocked his head as he stood up straighter, "Don't know what?"

Kakarrot's head came back up and he caught Vegeta's eyes, his voice serious as he admitted, "You are wrong Vegeta about anyone finding out about the two of you." His eyes grew hard, though his face was almost sympathetic, "Not only did you dishonor my sister by taking her outside of marriage, laying with her and taking her maidenhead—you left her with child."

Vegeta, who had finally found his footing, finally felt the Earth stop spinning, tumbled back down to his knees, unable to keep standing as Kakarrot's words hit him. Without thought, Vegeta's first reaction was denial. "Bulma? Pregnant? No. That's impossible." But even as he said the words, he knew it was very much possible. Both times he had lain with her, he had come inside of her, unable to control himself as he was usually able to, nor had he taken any precautions to ensure that she would not get pregnant. "But…she has not…she told me…nothing." Vegeta looked up at Kakarrot, confused, almost pleading with his eyes as he said. "Are you sure?"

Kakarrot shifted, crossing his arms, but seeming to find comfort in how stricken Vegeta looked at the news. He really had no idea, did he? Kakarrot's voice was warmer as he spoke. "She is. She says she is over three months gone."

Vegeta swallowed heavily, doing the math and realizing that put them at the Vegetasei ball, the first time he had taken her. Vegeta felt two very warring emotions conflicting inside of him. The beast inside of him was crowing with victory, roaring its approval of Vegeta's complete marking of the female of his own by planting his seed. It was ecstatic at having mated with his woman, proving his virility to all who wanted to see by making her heavy with his child. It demanded that he go upstairs and claim that woman as his own, so that no man could get between him and her.

The logical side of him, though, the one who knew he still had a vendetta to settle and people to avenge, the one who had been a part of him his whole life, felt a sinking dread in the pit of his stomach. He had gotten a woman pregnant. One of the very things he swore he would never do—it was not only a compromise to the family honor, but his own plans and his very life. He had plans that he had to carry out, plans that would mean he would not be of this Earth very much longer. The last thing he wanted was to leave a babe, fatherless, in this world. This is something he had never wanted to happen, something that was completely against who he was. This is why he should have avoided Bulma the moment he first felt a spark of emotion for her when he had first met her in America—she was dangerous to him, and to all that he still had to accomplish. She was a roadblock to his plans, and he should have known that being with her would have fucked everything up completely. This is what happened when he let his body and emotions make decisions instead of his cold hard logic.

But even as he thought it, he knew he did not want to leave Bulma, pregnant and alone, unwed and open to the advances of any man willing to offer for her. He knew the smart thing to do would be to allow Kakarrot to marry her, to give her the Vegetasei name when Vegeta could not—but it was not even the beast in him that rejected that idea. Every single part of him rejected that idea. The thought of Kakarrot, or any other male, marrying her and playing father to his own child caused his skin to crawl, his stomach to curdle, and his very heart to stop beating. He would not be alive for much longer…but the very least he could do for Bulma was to give her his name, and if the child born was a boy, he would inherit Vegeta's title, not Kakarrot, after Vegeta died.

Plus, Vegeta could not deny something in him glowed warm at the thought of Bulma being his wife, despite everything he knew he should be thinking of marrying a woman who had no title, and hardly any aristocratic blood flowing in her veins. She would have his name for the rest of her life, and after he was gone, she would carry on his family through a child they created together. Plus, she would be socially mandated to be in mourning for up to a year, unable to find another husband or lover during that time. So she would remain Vegeta's, and just Vegeta's during that time period. Something warm and fuzzy sparked in him, indeed, and Vegeta quickly rubbed his chest, as if he could rub that feeling away from himself.

Vegeta looked up from the ground, making up his mind in that instant. It did not matter what was right or wrong at this point, it only mattered what he wanted, and dammit if it made him selfish, then it would make him a selfish bastard who would die happy.

"Kakarrot. I will marry your sister."

A tension seemed to drain from Kakarrot his whole body slackening as he let out a deep breath and he clapped Vegeta on the shoulder. "Good. I was hoping you would. That is assuming she will have you."

Vegeta stiffened under the other man's hands, not liking how he was on his knees before Kakarrot, but unable to stand just yet. The idea of Bulma rejecting him was not something he considered, nor would he consider, though he could not stop the icy slide of fear as it went down his back. What if she did reject him? "She will accept me." His voice brokered no argument, and Kakarrot said nothing, so he only repeated, "I will marry your sister but I have a couple of conditions."

Kakarrot's face drew harsh again, as if he were expecting the worst from the man in front of him. After a second though, he gave a nod, "Name them."

Vegeta finally found the strength to get off of his knees, standing, wavering, but still standing as he used the hitching post as a crutch to help him up. When he could, he met Kakarrot's eyes again speaking with every fiber of his being, "I cannot give you all the details, but there are some things I must do soon Kakarrot, and by doing so I must put myself in dangerous situations. Bulma might be a widow sooner rather than later," the might was thrown in there to make this easier for Kakarrot, but Vegeta would not admit that out loud, "And once I'm gone, I need you to protect both Bulma and the babe. I do not need or want you to marry her, but if the babe is a boy he will be the next Duke, and I need you to protect them. Nappa will step into the role of second-man, much like he did for me, and there are tutors who can teach them all about being a real Duke. But you need to care for them as if they are your wife and child."

Kakarrot nodded, tension leaking out of his face again. "Of course. I would do so without you having to ask. Bulma is my sister, after all."

Vegeta gave a grave nod. He looked down before he spoke next, throwing every ounce of earnestness behind the next words because they were important. "Good…also, I need you to ensure that the dowager has no part in that child's life." Vegeta unwillingly thought back to the role she had played in raising him, and he had to fight the urge to shudder. Or to grow angry as he imagined her in his own child's life. His next words were icy, but he could not help it. "She has a way of changing a child forever, and I would not submit my child to the life I had growing up. No innocent deserves that, Kakarrot."

Kakarrot gave a rueful smile, but his assurances were clear as he spoke, "As if I would let the old hag near either Bulma or the child."

Vegeta gave a weak smile at the belligerence in his cousin's tone. "Good. I am glad we see eye to eye on that matter." He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand before looking back up, getting off the hitching post as he headed back towards the stables to get his jacket. When he came back, Kakarrot had not moved, and Vegeta sighed again, before asking, "Where is she?"

Kakarrot nodded towards a room that had a candle glowing by the window. "Upstairs. I have gotten us two rooms here. You can sleep in my room if there is no other openings in the inn."

Vegeta gave an appreciative nod towards the other man. "I will inform her in the change of groom." Vegeta straightened at that, his eyes making contact with Kakarrot, "That is assuming I am not too late. Will we have to annul your wedding before I can marry her?"

Kakarrot shook his head, smiling for the first time all night. "You are not too late." His face grew serious as he said, "Though if you do not marry Bulma first thing in the morning, I will not hesitate to do so myself."

The beast in him growled, but Vegeta kept his face stony. "It will not come to that. It will never come to that, Kakarrot."

Kakarrot said nothing, only giving Vegeta a smile that spoke volumes.

* * *

><p>Bulma could not sleep. She sat up in her bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, as they had been for the last three hours, her arms wrapped around them. Her eyes were heavy, her body was far past stiff, her muscles and joints aching, and her arms were cold since they were uncovered. But she did not move. Ever since Kakarrot and her had parted for the night, he to make arrangements for not only their wedding, but for their travels back to America, Bulma had been in this position, thinking.<p>

On the awful and long carriage ride up here, she had told Goku as much about her and Vegeta as she could, leaving out the more colorful bits (well and the spying bits), as Goku listened, telling her everything she needed to hear. How he did not blame her, how she was not a fool, how she was hardly a loose woman, how…well, just how she was still his sister and she would never have to fear about anyone else's censure when it came to _their_ child. She had slept for some of the journey, cradled in the crook of her brother's arm, the first real sleep she had gotten since she…well, forever…and she had felt safe in that time.

But now, as she sat here thinking about what she was preparing to do, Bulma did not feel safe. She felt sick.

So she had sat thought about just what was making her feel sick, just what about marrying a man she loved and respected (though she did not love in that way), who would save not only her reputation, but that of her unborn child's as well, was not sitting well with her. And the solution had become clear the second she had stopped thinking out of desperation, and gotten a sort of reign on her still tumultuous emotions. Though Goku's offer of marriage had come to her like a blessing she desperately needed, Bulma knew—with more and more certainty as her body grew more and more stiff—she could not take it. Yes, they were already here, already so close to being married—but when push came down to shove, she could not do that to her brother. She could not trap him in a life that was not his, could not force him to raise a child that was not his—and could not steal him away from a woman who did love him.

Chi-Chi's face had been flashing in Bulma's mind all day, making the American feel guilty. It was not like Goku was as unattached as he used to be and Bulma could not take a chance of love out of her brother's hands. Just because her own chance for love and happiness and a real family was gone did not mean she could take away someone else's. She was selfish—but dear Kami, she was not that selfish. Especially not when it came to someone she truly did love. She just could not do that to him, even though Goku was offering her a very appealing solution to all of her problems.

No matter how appealing the solution was Bulma knew she could not do that to Goku. He was too good of a guy, and he deserved a better life than the one she could give him. So she decided she was just going to leave for America tomorrow, making her way back, unwed and pregnant, and she would figure it out on the ship ride back. She had always thought of something in the past when push came to shove, and since she would be stuck in her cabin with seasickness the whole time, she was sure she would have plenty of time to think of something to do with her situation. She was not the first woman to be put in between a rock and a hard place like this, and she did not dare to think that she would ever be the last. If all those women before her could make it through this, then dammit, so could she. She was Bulma fucking Briefs. She would persevere.

Her mind finally made up, Bulma felt a huge weight lifted off of her shoulders, the guilt that had been running through her body for the last three hours evaporating, and she finally lowered her legs from their stiff position, her resolve ironing inside of her as her body screamed in protest. She had to tell Goku now. She had to tell him that while she appreciated his love and affection for her, she could not accept his sacrifice of marrying her. She just could not. And this could not wait until morning, because she was afraid her resolve would weaken between then and now, and selfishly marry Goku, ruining not only her life, but his as well.

Bulma threw on her dressing gown over her night rail, tightening the belt as she walked to her front door, throwing it open, uncaring of the late hour, or the fact that she was in a public inn. She needed to talk to Goku and she needed to talk to him now.

Only to freeze before she could get a foot over the threshold as she saw just who was leaning on the wall across from her door. Her throat constricted, her heart slamming in her chest as she whispered, "Vegeta?"

This had to be a vision—there was no way Vegeta, who could not even bother to come watch his ship launch with a steam engine, the first in the Kami-damned world, the same man who had been ignoring her for weeks, hell, months—was standing in front of her door. So she blinked. And blinked again.

But he was still there. Still standing there, his hair and body dripping wet, his legs covered in mud, his face and arms covered in bruises, those dark eyes flashing as they took her in. Somehow, even soaking wet and covered in dirt—the way he held himself as he leant against the wall, that flame-shape hair of his standing tall and proud—he managed to look regal and refined. She had to wonder how he did it…before she grew slightly hysterical at realizing what his being here meant.

She knew why he was here. He was here to protect Goku, to make sure he did not make a mistake by marrying an American. Bulma was not stupid enough, or self-absorbed enough to think his standing here meant that he was here for her. She had offered herself up to him the night at the hotel and he had flat out refused her. There was no way that he had come for here.

Her thoughts whirring in her head, she finally met his eyes, tearing her own from his disheveled appearance. When her blue eyes met his, his mouth tightened, his eyes narrowing, anger radiating off of him. His voice was subarctic when he spoke, the tone brooking no argument, "Just what in the hell do you think you are doing?"

Bulma did not know which 'what in the hell' he was referring to (the running away to Scotland? The running away to get married?) but his bloodied appearance caused her throat to constrict with fear for her younger brother. Especially as she knew that only one person in the world was strong enough to beat Vegeta this badly—and Goku had surely not won the fight if it was Vegeta standing across from her in the hallway. Her voice was a whisper as she questioned him, "Where is Goku? Did you kill him?"

Vegeta's mouth tightened into a thinner line, the black fire she knew so well banking in his eyes as he pushed off of the wall, taking a step closer to her. "Of course not. Why would I kill the man I traveled halfway across the world to bring back to his home country?" His eyes grew darker, somehow, and he approached her further, "Now I am going to repeat myself—what in the hell do you think you are doing?" Bulma gulped again, still confused as to what he was asking her about, though she did not have to wonder long as he hovered over her on the threshold of the doorway, menacing as he approached her. "May I remind you you are in a public inn, not your private house, and it is beyond unseemly to leave your room in nothing more than your fucking pajama's?" Bulma looked down at her perfectly modest gear, though she knew what he was saying was the truth.

She looked back up at him, prepared to say something, but his eyes flashed that fire again, his voice soft as he commanded, "Get back in the room Bulma."

Bulma felt her body grow hot and cold at the same time at the way he spoke to her. Something about that soft command, it caused the part of her that only he could seem to awaken to stir to life, wanting her to throw herself at him, while the part of her that was an independent strong woman wanted to punch him in the face for thinking he could talk to her like that. Her confusion twisted into anger at the tone of his voice, and she frowned at him, folding her arms around her traitorous body, glaring at him with all of her might. "Fuck you Vegeta. You don't get to tell me how to run my life."

Vegeta's mirthless smile turned something vicious in her gut, and he crowded her, stepping over the threshold of her room, approaching her like a predator would approach a prey. "That's where you are wrong, Bulma." Her body responded to his dark, sure tone by growing hot, her skin tingling, her heart pounding in her chest as he approached her like that—though she did not rush into his arms as her hormone-riddled body begged her to do. For every step forward, she took one back, keeping her eyes locked with his own, even as he closed the door behind him, shutting them in her room. Bulma had never felt so threatened by his presence before, nor had she felt so turned on by the way he stalked her.

Bulma backed away from him further, even after he stopped a few steps into the small room, needing to put space between them. Her emotions, just so settled and resolved after she had decided not to marry Goku, were back in an upheaval, and her stomach began to twist in knots, alerting her to the fact that she might throw up at any second. She focused on her anger though, taking that as a focal point to concentrate on as she watched him. Her body might be throwing both of them a million different signals, but she knew in her head that she needed to be worried about self-preservation, not how wonderful and musky Vegeta smelled as he took her already small room and made it feel a thousand times smaller. She needed to remain angry with him. Thankfully, months of abandonment made it easy for her to find ways to be angry with him, and she responded with her head tilted, her chin high in the air. "What are you talking about? We are no longer under your roof. I owe you nothing."

Vegeta stayed where he was, in front of the door, planting his legs and crossing his arms as he met her eyes, an impenetrable barrier between her and freedom. That smile of his turned into a cruel edged smirk, and he spoke, his voice louder than it was in the hallway, though something about the tone made her think of the dark, private way he spoke to her when he was seducing her. "Remember the deal we made when I first asked you to help translate for Basil?" Bulma's mind whirled back to that day, so damn long ago, and she gave a nod, and he continued, "You said I had to answer three questions of yours truthfully—and I agreed on the condition that you would answer mine just as truthfully." Bulma's felt the blood leave her face, though she stayed, standing tall, hoping Vegeta could not see her pallor in the darkened room as she realized where this was going. "Well Bulma, I have answered two of your questions honestly—now you must answer two of mine."

Bulma remembered how cocky she had been when she had told him she had nothing to hide, that time that felt so many lifetimes ago, that she could barely fathom that it was only a few months ago. Now she had plenty to hide, and she had a feeling Vegeta knew that from her prolonged silence. But she forced her head back up, her arms crossing in front of her as she said, "Okay."

Vegeta did not move, but his eyes traveled up her body as he took her in, his arms clenching around his body as he spoke. "Question number one…the night I took you in the gardens, Bulma, were you a virgin?"

Bulma's guts twisted again surprised by his direct approach (though she knew she should not have been, he was a top notch spy, and Vegeta was not one to beat around the bush), but she forced herself to stay still even though she felt like collapsing on the bed. How could he possibly know that? Had he come across the whole damn country to ask her that?! But Bulma was a brave, independent woman, and she was not going to let him overpower her with questions that really did not matter anymore. So she stood her ground as she said, "Yes. Yes I was." She paused for a second, then found herself elaborating, especially as his face did not change, "If you need proof, the gown I was wearing the night of the ball is in the back of my dressing closet, and there are some blood stains on them that are all that remain of my virginity." The last word came out as a heated hiss, Bulma growing angrier as she realized how lightly he was forcing her to take the subject.

Vegeta nodded, tersely, and his eyes were flashing as he met hers again. "I will have the gown brought to Vegetasei."

Once again, she was thrown into confusion, none of her questions to him having been answered. "Vegetasei?"

Vegeta's displeasure at her question practically radiated off of him, as if it was a thick presence between them. "It is not your turn to ask questions, Bulma. It is mine. I have one left."

She grew irritated with him, and his ability to make her feel like a fool at the same time he made her feel like a child. Kami! At this point she did not even care why he was here—all she knew was that she wanted him gone. And if that meant answering another one of his questions then fine. Though why he would suddenly care about whether or not she was a virgin went beyond him—was he really that thick that he could not tell from her inexperienced ways with him? Though…she had to admit that when she was with him she did not feel inexperienced. Her body just seemed to take over…but that was not something she was going to think about right now! Instead she narrowed her blue eyes back on Vegeta, wishing to Kami she had the ability to explode heads with her mind. "You have one question left, Vegeta. I suggest you use it wisely."

He smirked again, that dark smirk that even when it distorted his face (as it currently was doing) had her shivering. These pregnancy hormones were not something to be fucked around with, Bulma mused. Especially not when you were running through every emotion conceivable in such a short time period, alone in a bedroom with a man you could not decide if you hated beyond everything else—or could not live your life without. Dammit!

This time, Vegeta took a few steps further into the room, approaching where she stood with her back to the window, his face drawn as he calmly and surely asked her, "Are you currently pregnant with my child Bulma?"

_Goku told him!_ Bulma's mouth opened in a silent 'O,' and the blood in her head rushed to her stomach, her knees going weak as she fought the urge to sink to the floor. No. No. This was bad, this was beyond bad. The last thing she wanted was for Vegeta to find out—Kami, how many nightmare scenarios had she had with this exact thing happening? She had never wanted him to find out! Instead of collapsing within herself like she wanted to do, Bulma forced her back straight, her eyes meeting his square on as she flipped the long braid her hair was in over her shoulder. "Yes. Yes I am."

Vegeta took a deep breath at that admission, seeming to deflate a little as his eyes strayed to her abdomen. Clothed, Bulma knew that there was not much to be seen—but she knew that there was definitely a telltale bump that had not been there before, her flat stomach already starting to swell. Without thought, her hand went to her abdomen, as if she could protect the child she carried within her with such a simple gesture. Vegeta's eyes shot back up to her face, his face set in stone as he informed her, "We shall be wed in the morning then."

Bulma's mouth snapped angrily closed at that command, for once not feeling the heat she usually did when he spoke to her as such. "Says who?"

Vegeta's eyes flashed at her as he spoke, the fire in the warming her as much as real one could. "Me, Bulma." His finger pointed to her abdomen, that cruel smirk back in place. "The father of that child inside of you."

Bulma's hands tightened around her abdomen, and she glared at him, resisting the urge to stalk up to him and poke her finger at him. She knew at this point that that never ended well. "This is my child Vegeta. Not yours."

Vegeta growled as he stalked further into the room, stopping so he was only a few feet away from her. "That is where you are wrong, Bulma dear. It is our child, and I intend to see it brought into the world as such! That child could very well be the next Duke of Vegetasei, and I would not have it born out of wedlock." He stopped for a second, taking a deep breath, the lines of his face smoothing out as he earnestly spoke to her, "Do not push me on this, Bulma. You are a smart woman, and I am sure you are aware of the fact that if I really wanted to, I could take this child from you the second it is born." Her face must have showed her shock, because he added with a palm up, "I do not want to do that Bulma. This child will be the next Vegetasei heir, and I would rather prefer it be born in this world not as my bastard, or without its mother."

Bulma heard the threat Vegeta had issued, but she found herself focusing more on the end part of his little speech. He did not want to take her child from her—and he wanted to give it his name? He wanted to give her his name? Kami—if she had thought Vegeta was confusing before, he was beyond understanding now. He wanted her, he did not want her, he wanted her again? Could anyone blame her for questioning her own sanity at a time like this?

Bulma met Vegeta's eyes, a dark cloud passing between them as she made up her mind, and she hissed at him, "Fine. I will see you in the morning."

He turned to leave, but she stopped him with her words, needing to regain some of the momentum she had lost to him in agreeing to marry him on his terms, "But if you expect me to be a meek-willed wife who will do as you say, and only that, you are sadly mistaken. I will continue to work, continue to invent and I will be a true Duchess who runs your estates, do I make myself clear? And I will not stand for you to have extra-marital affairs. If we are getting married, we are doing this the right way. "

Vegeta turned back to look at her, and Bulma swore she saw that fire that had been flickering in his eyes burn to a bright flame that spoke of the passion she knew he had once felt for her—but he blinked and it was gone. Still, there was some sort of…pride? Admiration?…in his voice as he said, "I would have it no other way. Now get some rest before the ceremony. We will leave for Vegetasei directly afterwards, and that is a long day's carriage ride away, even if we leave early."

Bulma said nothing, knowing that even though his anger seemed to have evaporated he was still not in an answering questions kind of mode, so she only watched him go, wishing that she could find something to say to him that would get past the lump in her throat that had suddenly appeared.

Instead, she was surprised when Vegeta froze at the door, his hand resting on the door handle before he turned around, looking her in the eyes. His voice was low and intimate, definitely what she remembered from him seducing her as he said, "I would expect you to go above and beyond with all of your upcoming wifely duties, Bulma, and I know you will not disappoint me."

A delicious shiver worked its way down her spine at his tone, her knees finally giving out as he swept from the room. The only thing she could think was pregnancy hormones or no, she was in for a world of trouble when it came to Vegeta and what he could do to her body and soul.

* * *

><p>The next morning Goku stood, grinning and waving like an idiot as he watched his recently married sister and her new husband as they rode out of Gretna Green, on their way to Vegeta's main estate, Vegetasei. Bulma kept her head out of the window of the carriage, waving until he could no longer see her, though Vegeta did not move to even acknowledge him as he rode on a horse next to a carriage.<p>

It had not been the wedding ceremony he had ever envisioned for his sister, but it had still been beautiful—even if he had had to beat the groom into marrying her.

But still, the simple anvil ceremony Scotland was famous for had gone by flawlessly—Vegeta had even handed Bulma a small bouquet of flowers as she had entered the blacksmiths shop so that they could wed. It had surprised Bulma more than it had surprised Goku, but he had seen the tender look in her eyes as she collected the purple violets and blue lilacs from him, as well as the almost imperceptible red that had stained Vegeta's cheeks as he had handed them to her.

There was one other witness, necessary by law to be there to observe the ceremony, a girl who was often employed for such ceremonies, but Goku had paid her no heed as he instead watched his sister and his cousin as they wed. It had been a tumultuous road (literally, Goku thought as he rubbed his still store backside from yesterday's ride) to get them here, but he had to admit he was glad with the outcome. Though neither was particularly beaming at the other, or spouting great declarations of love as they declared their intentions to be husband and wife—but neither looked particularly unhappy to be here, and Goku knew with Vegeta and Bulma's attitudes, this was a good start to their marriage.

Goku sighed as he turned back to the stables, prepared to ride back to London, making sure to get Midnight, Vegeta's horse in the town of Derbyforshire. Or was it Hertfordshire? Some kind of shire—that was all Goku knew. Thank Kami he had written the town down…but where had he left that damn slip of paper?

Goku shrugged, knowing it would turn up, as he thought back to seeing Vegeta last night. He had been so happy to see the older man, assuming he had come for Bulma—and though he had had to beat the older man, Goku was convinced that no matter what Vegeta had said, he had really come for her last night. He frowned as he thought of the promises he had made to Vegeta the night before, wondering just why the Duke thought that he might leave Bulma a widow before long—and what exactly he could do to stop Vegeta from heading down that trail….

Before he could get too into those thoughts though, Goku found himself facing a community board of sorts, with notices from all over Scotland posted on it. His eyes were not drawn to the wanted posters, job notices, or resident listings, but instead to the missing person's portion of the board where he his eyes were drawn to one particular notice as if his eyes were fated to align on this persons likeness.

Goku blinked. Blinked again. Blinked three times in quick succession, and when he saw that that the person's likeness was still staring back at him, Goku quickly looked around to make sure no one was paying attention to him before he grabbed the billet off of the board, stuffing it in his pocket, before he practically ran to the stables suddenly, wanting—no needing— to get back to London as soon as possible.

* * *

><p>AN: Woohoo! The two of them are married—stories over, everyone can go home!

I WAS JUST KIDDING, COME BACKKKKK!

Ahem, anywhoo, man this chapter has been a long while in the making. A Vegeta/Goku fight (I watched UFC fighting clips to try and lend some realism to how they fought, so hopefully that came across- I am not the best at fighting scene), a Bulma/Vegeta confrontation (some truths FINALLY come out), and a wedding (hopefully you guys will agree the right couple got wed), plus a dramatic reveal for Goku (wonder what it could be…). Wonder how Bulma and Vegeta are going to fare in their new roles as husband and wife, though I think it is safe to assume for everyone there will be passion. Oh yeah—there will be passion. Hopefully I can get the new chapter up by New Years as an end of the year thank you!

If not, happy holidays to all of my readers, and seriously, thank you for being as awesome as you have been. It's been an interesting year for me, but you guys have always given me plenty of reasons to keep smiling. Love you all!


	31. Unexpected

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…Vegeta would have beat Goku in a fight. Just once. Goku was the hero, I understand this (and I do love him!) but I wanted Vegeta to best him just once.

Warnings: Cussing and (wait for it…) lemon.

A/N: Okay, so it's not before New Years (I did not mean to lie: Sickness! Holidays! Vacations!) but I hope everyone had an awesome holiday season and a fantastic New Years! Thank you for everyone who reviews (whether it be the first time or the fiftieth), and thank you to anyone who has stayed with me as my posting schedule has gone as crazy as my life. You guys all are rock stars in my opinion, and I have to say I love this fandom.

Big thank you to Lilpumpkin girl this time for keeping my head on straight when I forget certain things. Seriously, you should thank her for making sure this story does not go completely off the rails.

Oh, also, since I was playing Portal 2 at the time I was writing this chapter, I had to make a reference to it. Fantastic game, highly recommend it to anyone. Okay—onto the show!

Chapter Thirty: Unexpected

The first words Bulma got spoken to by her new husband, after they were pronounced man and wife were, "Get your things. We are leaving immediately." She had followed his orders, but when she had appeared at the rented carriage that would be taking her to Vegetasei, all he had done was nod before he had gotten on his horse, and that was that. No talk about what their future together entailed, or what this new state of being between them was, or just how it came to be that they were man and wife—which was just _fantastic_ for an increasingly worried Bulma.

The carriage ride was boring as hell, Bulma in there with nothing but her thoughts and concerns for her now unforeseen future as the Duchess of Vegetasei. She did not even have so much as a book to distract her, and though she spent some of her time sketching, the rocky carriage was not really harmonious with her desires to draw with a straight hand and that too was abandoned. So she spent most of her time staring out of the window, watching the changing English landscape, and surreptitiously watching her new (and unexpected) husband ride.

She had not slept that well, the night before, picturing her wedding day. The way Vegeta had acted she had assumed they would be getting a room at an inn to consummate their marriage, soon after the vows were over. She had been unable to deny how excited and fanciful she grew as she imagined him holding her, being inside of her again—but apparently her sleeplessness had been for naught. Here they were, now, married and he had only spoken seven words to her (none of them scandalous or even the least bit dirty) before promptly ignored her. Fantastic. She sighed as she watched him gallop ahead, before turning back to the landscape, wishing she could understand what was going on in that head of his. Though she suspected if she could ever understand what Vegeta was thinking, then she truly would be the world's smartest woman.

Somewhere around watching the sunset that night and sighing over her new situation for the thousandth time she must have fallen asleep (not that she was that surprised, since she had really not slept well the night before) as she was awakened by the second time her legally betrothed husband had spoken to her, as well as a gentle shake of her shoulder. "Wake up. We are here."

Bulma had blinked a few times, seeing that she must have slept for longer than she had thought, going by how dark the sky was, as well as the crust of drool she felt on her cheek. She hastily wiped at it, her eyes focusing on the shadow of the man in front of her, and not for the first time did she feel her stomach warp as she thought of him as he now was to her, _her husband_. No longer just the intimidating Dark Duke, the unapproachable Lord Vegeta, the powerful Vegetasei, the unfeeling Vegeta or even that asshole who ruined her life—but her frickin' husband.

Bulma took advantage of Vegeta not leaving her side with haste to sleepily ask him, "Is this Vegetasei?"

Vegeta nodded, looking behind his shoulders to the mostly darkened building. "The staff was unaware that we were arriving tonight as I originally told them we would be stopping in Leicester, but it was early enough that I wanted to push on through to Vegetasei."

Bulma nodded, as if this explained everything, though, to be honest, she would have a very difficult time pointing out Leicester on a map. Or any —cester, or any —shire, or any fucking place in England that was not London. She could be in Ireland right now, and she would not be aware—though she would like to think the rocking of the ocean would have alerted her to where her new home was. Still, nothing like feeling as lost as she currently did to really drive home the point of how alone she was, marriage status be damned.

Vegeta moved back from her, exiting the carriage, and Bulma sleepily stretched and moved as well, following Vegeta as he led her into the darkened looming shape that she could only assume was the house that was the size of the palace in London. The moon was new tonight, so she could not even get a real glance at it, other than to tell that it was in fact a building. Well, that was an understatement—even in the dark of the night, she could tell the place was palatial, down right massive, not that she could tell you anything about it except that it was dark, large, and looked like it had windows?

She followed Vegeta into the massive foyer, not that she could see much of that, either, what with it being lit by only a few candles in a candelabrum. A liveried butler, ancient as Jeffries was, was waiting for them, though, and by the crust on his cheek it looked as if he too was just woken up in haste (even though the rest of him was impeccable as Bulma would expect from any Vegetasei servant -her new servants, she guessed). He bowed deep, and Vegeta nodded to the man, the authoritative glint in his eye. "Wheatley. Good of you to greet us."

"Of course your Grace."

Vegeta impatiently hit his riding gloves against the palm of his hand as he spoke, looking all around the darkened foyer. "It is too late now, so make sure you have the staff ready in the morning for their introduction to the new Duchess."

Wheatley turned to Bulma, his eyes opening infinitesimally wider as he looked at her, though he dropped into a bow to her as well. He reverently murmured to her, "Welcome to Vegetasei, your Grace." Bulma stopped herself from curtseying back, though she could not help the deep swallow or the large eyes that accompanied her new title.

Vegeta, already half turned away from them, looked back uninterested at the pair as he commanded, "Wheatley, have her taken to the Palace bedroom."

Wheatley turned back to the Duke, his eyes larger as he repeated in a tone that bordered (as much as a monotonous good servant's voice could) on incredulity, "The Palace bedroom?"

Bulma watched the exchange with interest, though why the Palace bedroom was so special was lost to her as Vegeta gave a swift nod, his frown deepening as he simply said, "Yes." Vegeta turned to Bulma then, speaking monotonically as if she were a houseguest and not his new wife. "Wheatley will take you to your new chambers, and I will have a maid bring up a repast for you to eat, then you should get to sleep. Tomorrow you will meet the servants and have a tour of the grounds and house."

Bulma noticed Vegeta did not say he would be giving her the tour, or be with her while she met the servants. That spiked the anger in her that she had felt simmering just below the surface of how he had been and was currently treating her. He was ignoring again, wasn't he? Some perverse part of her knew he was looking to escape from being here with her, so she poked the bear, asking him, "What time is it?"

Vegeta looked at her full on then, looking slightly bemused as he quirked an eyebrow at her like he could not believe her gall in asking for the time. From him. Her new husband. "It's just half one."

Bulma nodded wracking her brain for a something appropriate enough to ask Vegeta in front of a servant, that would keep him with her but she noticed that Wheatley was already moving up the stairs. She sighed, resignedly following him up the stairs, though she straightened her spine as she stopped on the curved stairs, looking to a moving Vegeta. She forced herself to sound as strong as she stood, her spine straight. Her voice came out commanding, and she was proud of that—she hated feeling like she currently did, like she had no control in her life. "I will see you in the morning."

Vegeta, who was being eaten by the shadows of the large foyer as he walked past the stairs, stopped at the commanding tone in her voice. He turned slowly, that eyebrow still arched as he met her eyes. A flicker of the old heat was there in his eyes one that she could see even from a distance as he observed her before nodding his head. "As you wish."

Then he turned, the tenuous connection between them broken, and Bulma watched him go, disappearing into the shadows of the looming hallway, the candle he held bobbing as he went in his own direction. For some reason she felt a profound sense of sadness as she saw that too disappear. Apparently, they would not be sharing chambers together, nor would he be joining her in bed. The sinking feeling in her chest surprised her more than anything. Despite what he had said to her about having a real marriage, it seemed as if Vegeta was treating this marriage as exactly it was—a marriage of convenience.

Hell, it was basically whatever the British equivalent of what a shotgun wedding was—she was pregnant, and though he had tracked her down and married her, Bulma got the feeling it was more out of duty to protect Kakarrot from marrying her than for him to actually wed her. Which begged the question just why had he married her? To ignore her? To further punish her for having made the mistake of getting pregnant by him?

Bulma sighed, turning back towards the waiting butler, who was standing at the top of the stairs watching her curiously. She used his curiosity to fuel her pride, and she gave him her most regal turning up of her nose as she continued up the stairs, her head held high, and her back straight. As she reached the top she saw a flicker of pride in the Butler's eyes as she observed how she held herself and Bulma felt slightly better. Now as she followed him down another massive hallway, her footsteps were swallowed by the lush rugs that covered the floor, and though she was desperately curious to observe all about the Vegeta's main land holdings, Bulma forced herself to keep her head straight forward, her eyes trained on nothing, her face showing polite disinterest (as it always should when you were a—now titled—lady).

As they reached the double doors at the end of whatever wing they were in, Wheatley gave a polite nod as he held the door open for her and Bulma swept into her new rooms. As she entered Bulma had a disconcerting thought that she had not a clue how to get back to the main hallway from where she was currently as she had been too busy holding her head up high. She hoped a maid would be there to help her find her way to the breakfast room in the morning or else she would be have to shamefully call on one to show her around her new home.

The thoughts of getting lost though were gone as she realized she was now in the chambers she was to be calling home while here (or for life, she assumed). They too were large—a large sitting room that was neither overtly masculine or too feminine, a large hearth, a large comfortable looking chaise, a large few stuffed chairs—it seemed like the kind of (large) private parlor one would have to relax in before going to bed. And it was entirely too large for just herself, she mused. Who was she to share it with though? Her ghost of a husband? The man who did not deign to even look at her?

Wheatley opened the door to the bedroom to the right of the hearth, bowing as he said, "I will send up a maid to help you dress for bed, your Grace."

Bulma, who had been nodding, froze as she heard her new honorific for only the second time. Your Grace—she was a duchess now, wasn't she? A true, honest to goodness titled woman, and not just that, but the highest title one could get without being a princess—her mother was going to be over the moon. Bulma swallowed heavily, feeling as if this should have made her happier than it currently did, as if she too should have been dancing in delight at her new fortune. She should have been ecstatic at her new title (though honestly titles had never really gotten her as excited as they did other Americans), but instead all she felt was this sinking feeling of dread when she realized her and the dowager had something in common. Would Bulma turn out as old and as bitter as her? She hoped not—she would much rather be a somewhat batty old person (like her own parents) than as cold and as heartless as that woman….

Realizing Wheatley was waiting for her as he gave a discreet cough, Bulma gave another nod, straightening her spine once more. "Thank you for your help Wheatley. I shall see you in the morning," effectively dismissing him, before walking into her new bedroom with all the strength she could carry.

It was dark except for a few candles, and all Bulma could really grasp from the room was that it was dominated by an extremely huge four poster bed, and that it seemed to be decorated in a dark, navy blue color. Other than that, Bulma could not drive up the inspiration to really examine her room more, especially now that she did not have an audience to play up to. She would have the rest of her life to observe strict societal rules and act proper. Right now, all she wanted to do was to eat, then to crawl into that bed and to force herself not to get too wrapped up in her thoughts. Yes her life had taken a few unexpected turns, and sure, nothing seemed to be going in her favor at the moment—but she was Bulma fucking Briefs.

The incomparable of the London Ton, the envy of every woman in New York—and she was done with letting herself get depressed like she had been. Sure, the pregnancy hormones were not helping, but she was not a person who sat around being depressed. She was a go-getter. So tomorrow she would really take stock of her new life, and figure things out such as where her lab was going to go here, where the babies room was going to be, and how to run a palatial estate such as this. And she would talk to Vegeta. She needed to know where she stood with him, and she needed to get some things off of her chest—and she would try her best not to shout them at him. Though she was making no promises, as he deserved to be yelled at and more in her opinion….

Having made that decision, Bulma felt more confident now that she had a plan of sorts and she paced her new bedroom as she awaited the promised maid. She did not have to wait long (Kami, this place was efficient, just as she should expect from anything of Vegeta's) as a younger woman came in, bobbing a curtsy as she introduced herself as Mary. "I came to help you dress for bed, your Grace. I left a tray of the cook's best rolls and some cheese and meat out in the sitting room. Is there anything else I can bring for you?"

Bulma thought about how much sleep she had gotten in the carriage, her current agitated state, putting them together to realize she was not tired, nor would she easily be able to relax in a bed. Though she knew the hour was late an idea hit her, and she turned towards the girl smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. "Mary, while I eat, can you have a hot bath drawn for me? I would greatly like to wash the days travels off of me."

Mary seemed a little startled at that request (really, who asked for a bath at 1:30 in the morning?), but she still gave a nod. After helping Bulma change, Mary left with another curtsy, as quiet as she had been when she had entered it. Bulma, used to the general clamor always present wherever her family was felt like screaming—maybe she could convince the servants they had to wear bells? At least then her existence would be slightly more musical….

Bulma went into the sitting room and finished her meal quickly, silence and darkness her only companions as she stared into the fire that had been made for her as she ate. She did not like to think this about herself, and despite her new resolve to make the most out of her new life, but maybe she had made a stupid decision in marrying Vegeta. Not that he had given her much choice, but Bulma recognized (foolishly perhaps) that she had expected things to be different between them. She had expected him to treat her like a husband, for one, not some forgotten burden that he was now shackled with. Hell, he could not even work himself up enough about her to come and have his dastardly way with her.

She was sorely disappointed about this.

She had known Vegeta was not one for great declarations of love and sweetness, and she was not even sure that he had love or sweetness within him, but she had expected him to at least carry through with consummating the marriage, despite what he had told her in the hotel room those few months ago. She had expected their marriage to be full of fighting, and passion, loads and loads of passion—not this icy silence that permeated the air between them since that morning. The sex between them was always explosive on her end, and even if she had to endure a lifetime of Vegeta's attitude and sneering—which truthfully was not as bad as it sounded since she understood it better now—she had been expecting to endure a lifetime of him making her moan and scream between the sheets as well…though on further thought, when had they ever had sex between sheets like a normal couple? Or what she assumed a normal couple was like. Maybe everyone fornicated everywhere like they did?

"Your Grace, the bath is ready for you."

Bulma looked up from the plate she had been unconsciously running her finger around, as her thoughts grew more and more lascivious, the young maid bobbing another curtsy at her before Bulma blinked slowly, pulling herself away from her thoughts. She definitely needed to outfit the staff with bells or some other way to alert Bulma of their presence. She could not keep being caught unawares by them, thinking such dirty things as she was. "Thank you. I will ring when I am done," Bulma curtly said, dismissing the maid so she could bathe alone.

She waited until Mary was gone before she sighed, standing, walking through her new room, straight to the connected bath chamber, where she was extremely happy to see wisps of steam rising off of a large porcelain tub filled with hot water. Bulma let out a contented sigh as she felt the warmth from the bath permeate her body, even from where she stood, her muscles already starting to unwind. Now this, this was her idea of heaven after two days of being stuck in a carriage and sleeping in that inn last night. Bulma quickly pulled her robe off, her night rail following, before she walked over, allowing herself to sink into the warm water.

The groan that left her lips was pure pleasure as she sank in, enveloped in heat, and Bulma knew in that moment that while her marriage might not be what she was expecting, there would always be some simple pleasures in life that would make it worth it, and give her the resolve to carry on as only Bulma Briefs—no, wait—Bulma Vegeta nee Briefs, now, could.

* * *

><p>Vegeta made sure he had meandered around downstairs for a good hour before going up to his room. He wanted to give Bulma plenty of time to fall asleep before he came to the bedroom—he would not be sleeping in it tonight, as Bulma had made it clear that she did not want to see him until morning—but he still needed to get to his dressing room before he slept. So he was not, technically, going against Bulma's dismissal of him earlier—he was just grabbing what he needed, and leaving. He did not even care that she had sent him away tonight.<p>

Well…okay that was a lie. Some part of Vegeta had wanted to protest at her ignoring her wifely duties, but the other half, the bigger half of him that felt guilty for marrying the poor woman without her knowing all of the circumstances of Vegeta's future, had bowed his head and left her to herself as he went to his study. He had planned on drinking himself into a stupor, but instead he had stared sightlessly at the rows of books in front of him, wondering what else life was going to throw at him. Just when Vegeta thought he had it all figured out, nope. He thought he had finally gotten his affairs in order, finding a suitable heir to take over the Vegetasei title when he was gone? Just kidding! He instead had sired a child with a woman who made him feel! Who he had to marry for both her honor and his! Who might or might not produce a male heir that Vegeta would not be able to raise!

It was enough to drive anyone to drink—anyone but him tonight it seemed. So Vegeta had waited, unblinking, unseeing, unthinking—until he had seen that a good hour had passed since Bulma had gone upstairs. He had stood stiffly from the chair he had been occupying and walked the familiar stairs of his childhood home all the way up to his chambers, intending just to grab his robe from his closet before heading to sleep somewhere else. He forced himself to not look at the bed in the darkened room, the only light coming from a candle burning on a side table, knowing that if he saw Bulma's sleeping form he might not be able to help himself. From sliding into bed next to her, waking her up with all of the unspoken passion he wanted to share with her, showing her that while he might be a piteous husband in some aspects, in this one he would always go above and beyond.

She was his dammit, and the beast inside of him roared for him to claim her as such.

Instead Vegeta went into his dressing room grabbing the black robe he would change into once he was in another room and a few other necessities, feeling exhausted and sore from the excessive amount of riding he had been doing. He just needed a good night's sleep then he would be better prepared for what was facing him in these upcoming weeks.

He hoped.

Vegeta left his dressing room, trying to force himself to just power walk back through the room, heading straight on to the next bedroom that had linens in it so he could drag his very exhausted and tired body to bed. He made it all the way to the front door of the room by sheer will, before his body stopped, not allowing him to go a step further. It was literally as if he had hit a wall—he could not take a step further if he wanted too. He tried to keep walking out, to scale the mental wall he himself had put up, to tell himself that he knew what Bulma looked like….

His tries were in vain—it did not matter what he thought he wanted, his body really knew that no matter how many times he had seen Bulma, naked or clothed, he could not get enough. It was automatic, this need he had for her—and it was exactly the kind of weakness he had been trying to avoid by pretending she did not exist. This is exactly why he had pushed himself away from her, because when he was around her his orderly world went topsy-turvy and he seemed to lose all control of himself.

Vegeta sighed, frowning at himself and his own weakness, before he turned to where the only lit candle in the room rested, picking up the candleholder as he turned to face the bed. He approached the ducal bed cautiously, trying to be as soundless as possible so as not to wake her—then felt the frown on his face deepening as he realized there was no one asleep in the massive bed. There was no one in it period.

Vegeta cursed, staring down at the empty bed, wondering if the footman had brought Bulma up to the duchess's quarters, as that was where society dictated she sleeps. In the room on the other side of the sitting room he had walked through to get here—in her own bed. It was considered beyond unseemly to actually sleep in the same room as ones husband—a rule that Vegeta had never really considered before but now hated with every fiber in his being. Vegeta had been selfish with his decision to have her sleep in his room with him, but the part of him that lost all control around her had been unable to let her have her own room. She was his now and he wanted her at his side, sleeping, every night.

Well maybe not sleeping….

Fuck. He would have to now explain to her that the room she slept in this night was technically hers but he would prefer her to be in his…no, that sounded stupid and needy. Which he supposed he was. He was. Needy for her, that was. But he did not want her to know how needy he was. If he had a weakness for her it was his secret to keep, and no one else's business. Especially not hers. Vegeta sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his eyes as a wave of tiredness washed over him. Best to leave all of this heavy thinking and soul searching for the morning. Well, at least he would get to sleep in his own bed tonight.

That thought did not help his suddenly black mood.

Vegeta sighed again, guessing he was tired enough to fall asleep, ready to lie back into his familiar large bed—when he froze.

Was that a moan he had just heard?

A moan coming from his water closet?

What the fuck?

Vegeta put the candle he had still been holding on the bedside table, and instead approached the partially open door to his water closet he had not seen was ajar in his haste to and from the room. He had been so blinded first by his need to leave the room as quickly as possible, and then by his need to see Bulma he had not even noticed that there was light coming from under the door, or heard the subtle sound of splashing that was obvious if one held themselves absolute still, right outside of the door, holding their breath as well. Which was exactly what Vegeta had done once he realized that hope was not lost with seeing Bulma tonight, holding himself absolutely still as he listened.

Bulma was here. In his room. Even better—she was in his bathroom, using his tub by the sound of it. Which meant that she was absolutely naked, and the only thing separating him from her at this moment was a door. A door he could noiselessly pull open, so he could get his first look at a naked Bulma as his wife.

There was a moment where he hesitated, wondering if he would be pushing his luck, being too uncouth in opening the door, and watching his wife bathe. He was raised as a gentleman after all, and Bulma, while not a true lady, still acted like one and should be afforded more respect than for her new husband to go against her wishes and approach her tonight.

Then she had let out another moan; one of pure physical satisfaction, and the decision had been out of Vegeta's hands.

The door had noiselessly opened, and Vegeta had allowed himself a long moment to take in the scene before him. Bulma had her back to him in the tub, facing the tiled wall, her hands in her luxurious blue hair as she lathered it up, her naked back bare to him as she coiled the massive amount of hair she had around her head. Some of the suds escaped from her massaging hands, slipping over her slick skin, and he was faced with the desire to follow their very path with his tongue, taste of the soap be damned. It was Bulma. Her flavor would be sure to wash away the taste of anything else unsavory—and dammit—it had been way too long since he had allowed himself that pleasure of touching or tasting her.

He looked at her head as she let out another moan, and he felt something shift inside of him that was unrelated to the lust he was displaying. It was not as if she were putting everything on display to him, but something about seeing Bulma so unguarded in that moment, relaxed and shampooing her hair—it had made Vegeta hard, while at the same time made him weary as to what his true feelings for his new bride were. He was having a very expected reaction to seeing a naked Bulma, his heart speeding up, his blood pumping, the beast in him screaming for him to take her with his already painfully hard cock—but he was having an unexpected one as well. One that softened at the sight of her relaxed as he had not seen her in months it seemed, one that wanted to smile at her as he was sure she was smiling—it was uncomfortable for a whole other reason than his bodily reactions were.

But all thoughts, unpleasant and pleasant, were gone from his head as Bulma had dipped under the water, submerging herself, before she emerged again, standing this time as she sighed again. Vegeta's hand had moved down to cup himself, heavy and straining for her warmth, squeezing himself as she let out one last moan of pleasure as water and soap sluiced off of her curves. This was better than any fantasy he had conjured up of her. And he had conjured up many. Many, many. More than he would care to admit to even himself. It seemed that as it was in the real world, the only woman who could entice him to completion now had to have that beautiful blue hair, those wide blue eyes, and that luscious red mouth.

Kami, she was every bit as beautiful, if not more, than he remembered. The curves of her body were so feminine and inviting, her skin so flawless and delectable looking, that any man would have paid to touch that unblemished white skin of hers, to sink themselves between those lush hips. Her perfectly rounded backside called to him, as he had never really explored it before, and he was suddenly hit with the desire to right that wrong. She turned her body to reach for the towel waiting for her on a nearby stool, and his lustful thoughts were stopped and turned in a different direction as he saw not only the swell of those bountiful breasts, but also the new swell in her lower stomach.

Vegeta swallowed hard as he took in that bump, the first sign he had truly seen of his un born child, and felt himself wishing for things he could not have. Like a life raising that child properly, a lifetime to be a father unlike his own father had ever been, a lifetime of making Bulma's belly swollen with his seed, of showing Bulma the many things he wanted to do with her. And not just sexually…Kami, now there was a scary thought.

Bulma wrapped the towel around her as she stepped out of the tub, finally turning to face him as she wrung her hair out.

Her whole body froze upon seeing him, and Vegeta was pulled from his regrets about how short this marriage was going to be (and the fact that he was unlikely to ever see his new heir) as he saw a pink flush start at the tops of her breast over where she had the towel tucked around her, up her shoulders and neck, before resting on her pink cheeks. He was a hundred percent certain that pink flush had nothing to do with the heat of the water she had just left, but rather the way his eyes were greedily taking all of her in. He might not be around forever, but in his time here, now, as her husband, Vegeta was going to take advantage of having her all to himself. And he really did have her all to himself—she had admitted she had never had another lover before him, and that meant that Vegeta was the only man she had ever slept with.

Kami, he wished he could keep it that way forever

Bulma seemed to unfreeze then, and she nervously wrung her hair out over the tub, her eyes flicking slightly past his shoulder as she calmly said, "Do you have a comb I can borrow?"

Vegeta, who had been expecting a lot of things, had found himself knocked off balance by her simple question. So that was how she wanted to play this? Like it was normal for him to be standing there, watching her as she bathed? To ignore the sure to be glowing of his eyes, or the way her own body responded to his glance. Even through the thick terry of the towel, he could see her nipples budding, and saw the way she was pressing her thighs together, as if that could help the ache that he was sure was suddenly there. Still she had asked a question, and Vegeta forced himself to answer, a smirk on his face, as he was never one to turn away from an opportunity when it arose. He swept his arm back towards the bedroom, "Of course."

Bulma walked past him into the room, casting questioning glances over her shoulder, but he ignored them pointed to the edge of the bed, "Sit. I will be right back." Vegeta quickly went into the Duchesses bedroom, going to the dresser that had stood unused on the other side of the sitting room since his mother had passed, and found the silver edged comb that he remembered her running through his own hair when he had been younger. He did not dwell on that happy memory for long, though, as his new wife was sitting on his bed, practically naked, and waiting for him.

Vegeta was glad to see that Bulma had followed his instructions and sat on the edge of the bed, though she was nervously playing with the edge of the towel, fiddling with it before she looked up at his coming back to their bedroom. She moved to stand as she saw Vegeta approach, but he cut her off with a swift pass of his hand, "Stay."

She looked at him, confused but did as he said, sitting back down on the bed. As she him approach, though, her eyes widened as he reached for the long length of hair that trailed over her right shoulder as she understood what he intended to do. "Vegeta you don't have to—"

"I want to." He cut her off with the truth, unknowing or uncaring of where it had come from. He could not remember being obsessed with her hair more so than any other part of her (and he was man enough to admit that he was obsessed with her in general), but right now he had the strongest desire to brush her hair for her. She was his wife now. And he wanted his hands on those silky tresses, even if they were wet.

Vegeta started at the bottom of her hair, both of their eyes on his hands as he carefully and slowly brought it through his fingers, using the comb, softly, whenever he got to any tangles. The higher he got, the closer he moved to her, their bodies radiating heat as Vegeta slowly and calmly set about his task. The tiredness he had been feeling, the soreness he had been experiencing, they were gone as the world shrank to just the two of them, enclosed in this space, as he calmly set about brushing her long ocean colored locks.

As he got to the height of her shoulder, Vegeta moved around her, taking her hair with him as moved so he was sitting behind her, his legs on either side of her body, enclosing her as he concentrated on the urge to keep brushing her hair. As he straddled her body, another persistent desire welled up in him, to just hold her warm body to his, but Vegeta ignored that to concentrate on smoothing her hair down her back, brushing it as it dried straight under his ministrations. He thought back to that first night, the first time he had seen her with her hair down, and how even then it had enchanted him. If the Vegeta he had been back then could see how much pleasure Vegeta now was deriving from this simple, mundane task, he would have scoffed. But that Vegeta was a fool as far as this Vegeta was concerned.

Bulma was conflicted. So, so conflicted. This was the first time Vegeta and her had been alone since…well, last night, but that did not count. This had been the first time they had been alone since that awful night at the hotel, where she had almost died, and he had rejected her. She still remembered how he had answered her question, how cruel he had been when he had broken her heart into a thousand tiny pieces. _"Why would I want what I already have had? You are nothing but used goods to me at this point."_ Those words that had haunted her, making her by turns angry and sad as they played over and over in her head since she had first heard them. When she had found out she was pregnant and she had considered telling him those were the words that had kept her from seeking him out. No, Bulma did not want to be so humiliated again by him, did not want to give him the chance.

The anger she felt at remembering those words still coursed through her body; pumping right along with the lust she could not battle, especially with his strong legs pressed to either side of her body (damn you pregnancy hormones!). He had hurt her, and he had known he was hurting her as he said those words, his eyes so black and soulless as he had venomously said them. She wanted to scream at him, tell him no one talked to her like that, and no one ignored her like he had—tell him that this was not how a human being deserved to be treated by another human being. Especially since…well, that was not important right now. Her anger and her lust pulsed inside of her, creating a potent mix where she knew that if she turned around to look at him she would either jump his bones, or try and claw his face off.

But…but…something odd was happening. Something unexpected. The anger and the lust, while still there, were being tempered by the way he was so softly and gently brushing her hair. It was such a mundane task, one Bulma usually suffered through with a maid, or hastily did herself—but there was something so charged and potent about the way Vegeta was painstakingly brushing her hair, untangling the knots so gently as not to hurt her, running the brush softly through her tresses so as to not pull on her scalp. The way he was making sure each section got as much attention as the one before it, all while basically holding her with his body…her heart was thumping so loud in her chest she was sure he could hear it. The soft way he was treating her fed into her lust more than the anger, but it also awakened another part of her—the part that had been so hurt by him that night. If she only truly lusted after him, his words would have made her angry with him. Not as sad as they had—Bulma had to admit to herself (as scary as it was) that somewhere along the line she had developed some real feelings for Vegeta, feelings she did want to give a name too. Not now. Not when he was already confusing her. The way he was treating her did not mesh with the harsh words he had spoken, and Bulma thought back to that night, wondering why she had never questioned what he had said before.

She had been so emotionally raw after only losing her life; she never questioned what he had said. But why hadn't she? It was so obvious in the way he was treating her right now that what he said about not wanting her was a lie (she could feel the hard length of him pressed to her back in this position) so why had he spoken to her that way? Especially after he had embraced her initially that night…maybe there was something she was missing, some part of how he had acted that night that she had overlooked that had explained why he had treated her like that. The questions she suddenly desperately wanted to ask him rested on the tip of her tongue.

And yet…

She could not ask them. She could not voice her anger, she could not question just why he had treated her so since that night at the hotel, why he had ignored her. The way his hands were going through her hair, almost reverently she would say, was too distracting, so out of character for him that the only thing she wanted to do in this moment was feel. Feel him touching her so sweetly, caressing her so attentively—Bulma promised herself that in the harsh light of morning she would talk to him. She would yell at him, she would question him and she would say everything that she wanted…no, needed to say to him—but the morning would be soon enough for that. Now she deserved to be touched so softly, to feel his hands on her, to be treated like she was a goddess—and dammit, she was going to enjoy this.

It was not until her hair was as shiny and soft as he knew it could be that Vegeta allowed himself to give into temptation, to put the comb aside, as he moved her hair over one of her shoulders, and leaning into the uncovered one, left a soft kiss there. The moan that came from Bulma acted as the only foreplay he needed, his still hard cock thrusting further up, straining, reaching for her, as she let out a delicious groan that put the ones he had heard from her in the water closet to shame.

Vegeta smiled against her warm skin, before moving up, leaving a kiss on the side of her neck going further up, dropping lingering kisses up her neck, behind her ear, in that zone that made her squirm, pressing further against him. As his tongue came out, tracing the shell of her ear, before leaving a soft bite on the soft flesh of her lobe, Bulma let out a breathy, "Vegeta..."

They both moved at once, Bulma twisting to face him, Vegeta moving her so that she was back against the pillows, his body over hers, his thighs still on either side of her. His hands framed her face as he used his forearms to prop himself up, and he took a second to stare at her, just stare at her, as he whispered, "Kami, you're beautiful."

Her cheeks turned the most appealing shade of red, but Vegeta was too focused on her lips. Especially when they curved into a smile. He could not help himself once he saw that smile, and his head swooped down to hers, their lips joining as if they had never parted.

There was a time to be gentle, and a time to be rough—right now Vegeta did not care which time it was, he just wanted to touch her. His lips worked against the soft silk of hers, the fervent desire he was feeling leaving him lightheaded as she kissed him back. She stole the air from his body, and he still did not move his mouth from hers, savoring the heated feel of her all over his body. Her arms tightened around his shoulders, and she arched under him, pushing the soft curves of her body into him, causing him to see starbursts behind his closed lids. His mouth ran over her lips, frantically, as his hands buried themselves in her soft hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss. Bulma's mouth opened on a groan, and his tongue swept into hers, stroking her own tongue to life, before tasting every bit of her mouth, exploring the moist cavern. He thrust in and out, mimicking what his hips were doing to lower stomach, knowing that he had to get a reign on himself or that their first time as husband and wife would not last very long.

Vegeta pulled back from Bulma, dropping one, two, three quick kisses back on her mouth, before he moved so he was not covering her, moving down, leaving another trail of kisses along the top of the towel, before he stopped at where it was twisted around her, looking up at her for permission. Her blue eyes were dark, and he waited, patiently for her to give any indication that it was okay. A nod, a blink of the eyes—anything at that point would have been okay.

But Bulma surprised him (Kami, would she ever stop doing that?) by sitting up, moving her body out from under him, so that she was leaning against the headboard, her eyes still on his face, as she swallowed, hard, "I want to see you."

Vegeta moved, sitting so that he was facing her, trying to understand what her words meant, "Do you need me to get more candles?"

Bulma turned the brightest shade of red, and Vegeta watched with interest as she took a deep breath, running her fingers agitatedly through her hair as she looked around the room, muttering unintelligible nothings to herself before she brought her eyes back to his own, her courage built up enough to say, "No…I mean I want to see you naked. I really have not had the chance. I've never really seen a male naked before in person…."

Those words—they kicked him in the gut, desire hitting him soft and low in the gut at the request she had put out there, mixing with a well-needed reminder that though she was currently pregnant with his child, the only sex she had ever had, had been once in the grass, and once in a library…and half in an opera. She needed him to go slow right now, and dammit, Vegeta wanted to give her the first time she deserved, not the first time he had given her.

So Vegeta, in a move that surprised even him, looked at her, taking her hands as he said, "We do this how you want then. You tell me what to do."

Bulma's blue eyes flared in gratitude, and she smiled again causing his gut to tighten further, especially when she leant forward as she whispered, "May I undress you then?"

Vegeta groaned, knowing that she needed him to be kind in these moments, but that his desire (and very nature) were making kindness the last thing on his mind. He forced himself to nod though, even as the beast inside of him howled for him to mark her, mate with her, remind her that she was his and his alone. Even though his blood licked through his veins hot, his heart pumping as fast as if he had just run a marathon, his skin tingling for her touch, he made himself stand still for her.

Vegeta looked her in the eyes, knowing that his eyes were probably telling her how badly he wanted her pinned underneath him as he drove inside of her, "Just be quick about it…."

The _or else_ on the end of that sentence went unsaid, but Bulma did not need to be told to hurry. Hell, she was as surprised as Vegeta was that she had even allowed herself to stop him from undressing her and ravishing her. But some part of her had kicked up, through the flaming desire that was currently licking through her entire body, making her breasts ache for his touch, her lower body pounding with demand, and told her that she wanted this time to be different then their other hurried couplings.

Sure, Vegeta had been naked the day in the library, but she had still not really seen him naked, nor had she gotten the chance to explore the golden, delicious body of his. And Kami knew she wanted to. She had been wanting to since she had first met him, since she had seen him shirtless as he fought her brother on his ship—and though they would be married for the rest of their lives, and she would have a long time to really explore his body…Bulma knew she wanted this now.

Her hands were surprisingly steady as she reached for him, moving so that they were facing each other on the bed, her legs tucked under her, one of his off of the bed, as the other was at an angle at the knee, away from his body. She made quick work of the black vest he still wore; glad he shed most of his outerwear before coming up here tonight, as she did not want to have to wrestle with yards of clothes in that moment.

Her fingers were slightly shaky as she moved to the buttons of his dark, black shirt, though she meticulously pushed the buttons through, one by one, not allowing herself to explore his body until she had pulled the shirt from his breeches, and finished unbuttoning every last button.

When she did, she lifted her eyes back to his, seeing how heavy lidded they were as they watched her, that fire she was used to seeing there in intimate moments like this blazing like an inferno as his breathing became more labored. Bulma took a deep gulp, her eyes drawing lower as she put her two hands at the gap of his shirt, pushing them through to the warm, hard, yet soft skin that was waiting for her underneath. Bulma pushed her hands apart, up his shoulders, and down his arms, taking the shirt with her as she pushed it off of him completely.

She gave herself a moment to really just stare at the hard male chest in front of her, the candlelight making his skin shadowed and bronzed at the same time, gulping hard as she took in his perfection. Slowly, she raised one of her hands to the top of his right pectoral, to a scar that was there, tracing the curve of it with her fingers, lightly.

"A wound from my first time taking another man's ship. He thought to stab me through my heart—I repaid him by taking his ship and his life." The words were spoken low and soft, guttural almost, and Bulma simply nodded at the admission from him, as her eyes flicked to his. She made sure his eyes never left hers as she leaned forward, putting her lips to the scar. Vegeta let out a hiss at the contact, but Bulma did not let that deter her. His skin was warm, and salty, and had that musky flavor that would always and forever remind her of Vegeta. Her tongue came out to edge the line of the scar, and she felt Vegeta's muscles tighten, could hear his heart begin to pound harder, and saw, from her peripheral vision, his hands fisting in the sheets.

Bulma smirked, feeling a rush of power as she realized the hold she had over him, wondering why he had told her he no longer desired her. It was clear to her that he did…

But that was a mystery to be saved for another time as Bulma used her fingers and mouth to explore the planes and angles of Vegeta's muscles, and scars, paying special attention to his deeper cuts, his healed wounds that spoke of the fighter he was. Vegeta told her what each scar was, his voice growing lower and darker as she became bolder in her exploration of him. When she got to the tip of one of his pecs, she ran her tongue along the rim of his nipple, and she heard Vegeta let out another agonized moan. Her eyes were drawn to him again; as she saw how much control he was exercising in allowing her to explore his body. His face with white, clenched, his eyes lowered as if he was in pain, and his mouth was drawn flat. Bulma pulled back, her hand to her chest, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to hurt you."

Vegeta's eyes opened, that banked fire alive and well as he looked at her, "You're not. Kami, the last thing you're doing is hurting me…it's just…you could hurry things along a bit."

Bulma smirked at that, and she moved away, to the edge of the bed, pointing, "Stand."

She was not surprised by the alacrity Vegeta followed her orders, but rather the still graceful way he sprang from the bed, turning to face her as she scooted to the edge. Was the man ever not completely in control of his body?

She suddenly made it a goal of hers for tonight to make him lose control. As much as possible.

But she was not as unaffected by the sight of Vegeta standing over her, staring down at her with lust-filled eyes, the tent in his pants obvious, and her hands trembled as she reached for the breeches buttons. As she got to the waistband of his pants, she paused there, and he surprised her by putting his hands on top of hers. She looked up at him, seeing him giving that wickedly delicious smirk as he calmly said, "It might be best if I did this. I have to take my shoes off still…."

Bulma looked down, seeing that he was indeed still wearing his shoes, and she nodded, gulping as she leant back. "Perhaps you're right. It would be best."

Vegeta made quick work of his boots, sitting on the edge of the bed, a foot or so from her, as she watched him from lowered lashes. He then stood, his back to her as he unbuttoned his pants, before he shucked those, as well as whatever else he had on, standing, giving her a second to stare at his rounded, muscular ass, before he turned towards her.

Bulma shot her eyes up, taking a necessary second to stare at the perfection that was Vegeta's sculpted chest and abs, before she gulped, her eyes following the trail of hair that led down from his belly button…

Bulma gulped.

She had seen the male anatomy in books only, and yes, Vegeta had been naked inside of her twice now, but she had never really gotten the chance to look at him, or see any man with an erection before.

He was fucking huge.

Well, she was guessing, but the more Bulma looked at it, her eyes wide, the more she wondered how that had fit inside of her. No wonder it had hurt when he had first thrust inside of her.

But still, she was not afraid of him, as she was instead interested to see the swollen appendage, the flushed red head, the pearl glistening from the tip. Bulma kept her eyes on him as she said, "Can I touch you?"

His answer was as much a frustrated groan as a command, "Touch me."

Bulma did not need a second invitation, and she reached her hand out, running it down the shaft of him, surprised by how soft the skin was there, and how hard he was underneath the smooth flesh. He was like steel, and she curiously ran her hands up and down him a few times, from tip to base, seeing the muscles in his abs clench, as he fisted his hands at his sides, before he let out some desperate noises as she increased her speed.

Bulma got into the feeling of power she got from making him make those noises, and going off of what he had done to her, Bulma brought her mouth to the tip of him, covering the swollen head with her mouth, even as her hand continued to pump him.

"KAMI!"

Bulma was going to rear back, afraid she had hurt him, her hand stilling on him, but Vegeta's hands had moved into her hair, holding her where she was as she groaned. Bulma flicked her eyes up to him, though she did not move, and was gratified to see he was looking at her like she was a goddess.

Emboldened by his looks, Bulma pushed her head forward, taking as much of him into her mouth as she could, feeling him hit the back of his throat. Bulma ran her mouth off of him, using her tongue on the underside to trace a vein it found there, and Vegeta let out another moan. Bulma withdrew completely, running her tongue along the crown of him, enjoying the pure, masculine, Vegeta flavor, before she opened her mouth, pulling him back in. She started to run her hand slowly against the shaft again, her mouth and hand working together.

Vegeta's hands in her hair guided her as she continued her exploration of him with her mouth, but going by his moans and groans, Bulma did not need much help, especially as she moved her other hand, the one not pumping him, from where it gripped the back of his thighs along to his front, where she palmed the heavy sac that rested there.

Vegeta let out a ferocious growl then, and before Bulma knew what was happening, he had pulled himself from her lips and hands, and then lifted her with both hands under her armpits, throwing her back against the pillows.

She barely had time to bounce once before he was on top of her, the delicious weight of his body pressing her into the bed. She moaned as he latched onto her neck, his hips driving into hers, thrusting how hard and ready. He lavished her neck with kisses and bites, moving off of her enough that he could rip the towel that had become twisted around her open, baring her body to him.

He wasted no time in moving down to her breasts, pinching one nipple between his fingers as his mouth latched on to the other one, his tongue flicking over the hardened nub as he sucked her into his mouth. She groaned, arching her back, her hands in his hair, holding him to her as he tortured her. He alternated between laving her gently with his tongue, harder flicks, and gentle bites that had her whole body turning into a powder keg of desire. Her legs scissored as she moaned and groaned, needing to feel him there, though she could not get the words out over the way he was paying homage to her body.

Finally, she managed, "Vegeta, please," In a breathy, husky voice that had her feeling extremely wanton.

Vegeta unlatched himself from her chest, smirking up at her wickedly as he asked, "Please what?"

Bulma undulated her hips up to him, hoping to get her message across. He let out a moan, his eyes closing as her pelvis drove into his against his stiff erection, but Vegeta only opened his eyes, the black eyes glowing with desire, his face dark as he told her, "I need to hear you say it."

Bulma moaned, clawing at his back as he loomed over her, but she finally stopped thrashing enough to take some deep breaths. Forcing her body still, she forced herself to meet his eyes as she told him in a husky voice she barely recognized; "I need you inside of me."

Vegeta smirked, moving so he was between her spread legs, pulling her knees up to the sides of his body, and he rested his weight on her. She felt his probing cock at her entrance, and she let out a whimper, but his smirk only deepened as he said, "I thought you'd never ask."

And with one sharp thrust he entered her fully, his thick cock stretching her deliciously as he touched the base of her womb, both of them crying out and arching back, pushing them closer together. Vegeta buried his head in her neck, speaking to her in a language she had never heard before, her eyes popping open as she turned to him. Before she could ask though, Vegeta's head popped back up, latching onto her mouth as his hips pulled back, then thrust again, just as deeply.

Bulma moaned into the kiss, and Vegeta started to thrust into her mouth as he did with his lower body. His hips moved, rotating so that every time he thrust he was hitting a new spot, until he found the one that had her clawing at his back, holding him to her. Bulma's whole body clenched around him, holding him as close to her as she could, as she pulsed around him, wishing he could stay inside of her forever. Why did moments this pleasurable ever have to end?

Just when she thought it could get no better, he let go of one of her legs, drawing the other one up so he could thrust further into her, hitting that spot. Bulma felt herself letting go as he continued to move into her, thrusting, stretching, her body becoming nothing but sensation as he found way to thrust into her at the same time as he slid against her engorged clit. The friction built fast, and before Bulma knew it, she was wrapping her free leg around his back, holding him to her that way, her head thrown back, moaning and crying as a fire blazed through her whole body, a raging inferno that caused her to hold him tighter to her as it ran through her body, sparks feeling as if they were coming out of her very skin as she got pushed to a higher plane of existence before she lost all feeling and let go, jumping off of the cliff of pleasure he had pushed her to.

Vegeta kissed her neck, holding her as she moaned through the orgasm, her body milking his, clenching around him, but still, he forced himself to hold off from thrusting into her mindlessly, trying to reach his own release, instead giving her little nudges, just enough friction so that she kept coming, and coming. Kami, she had never looked so beautiful as when she let herself really let go like she was right now.

He could watch her do this for ages….

Finally, when she stilled, no longer moaning and groaning, but instead panting softly, Vegeta pulled out of her, looking down at her, as she smiled up at him, clearly still dazed. Vegeta wasted no time admiring the view, though he would once they were done, instead flipping her softly onto her stomach, then pulling her up by her hips so that luscious backside was in the air. He positioned himself behind her, on one knee, the other one out so he was on his foot for a better angle, positioned himself at her entrance, then thrust in her again.

He groaned louder than her this time, though he felt her muscles squeeze around him again, a gasp escaping her throat. Kami, he had fantasized about having her like this since the moment he had first seen her, and Kami, it was way better than he could ever have imagined. Bulma went to move her head from where it rested on the pillows, no doubt moving to get up on all fours, but Vegeta put an arm down her spine, holding her down, "Stay there, it's better this way."

He gave a nudge forward of his hips to really emphasize his point, and she let out another sumptuous sounding moan that let him know she agreed. Vegeta then moved his hands to her hips, and holding her in place, began to thrust into her again, letting her body guide him as he went deeper than before. He leant over her, dropping kisses around her back, as his hand went to the weight of her breasts, delighting in the heavy feel of them as his other hand still guided her hips. When his searching hand found the hard tip of her breast, he gave her another pinch and she gasped, slamming back into his hips as he thrust forward as another orgasm hit her, squeezing him.

This time he let go, allowing himself to finish, his seed emptying into her as he held her still, her name escaping his lips on a throaty yell as the world burst into a thousand stars, his body finding that wonderful release he had been denying himself for months it seemed. He lost all sense of everything but Bulma, being inside of Bulma, holding Bulma, smelling Bulma, touching Bulma, wanting nothing but Bulma for the rest of his life. He came longer then he could ever remember coming before, and he held himself deep inside of her as he let the sensations wash over him.

When he floated back down to his body, Vegeta realized he had collapsed on top of Bulma, and he moved off of her to his side. Usually, this was the part of the night where Vegeta slipped from the bed, got dressed and said good-bye, but tonight, for the first time ever, Vegeta pulled Bulma with him as he went to his side, so he spooned her, dropping kisses along the exposed skin of her shoulder. He could not let her go. He would not let her go—he did not have all the time in the world to play husband or be a man for her, but he wanted to make sure that before his time was up he well and truly branded her as his own.

He would like to think that fifty years from now, when she was the dowager duchess of Vegetasei, and (hopefully) alone in her bed, that these memories would still keep her warm. Which made him a sentimental fool.

Something he could not find the strength to really chastise himself for at this moment as he lazily drowsed off to sleep with Bulma in his arms….

* * *

><p>AN: Wow…I actually don't have anything to add to this (doesn't stop me from writing an A/N does it? Nope!). Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and see you next installment! Love ya all!


	32. What You Owe Me

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…Bulma would have gotten some fabulous hair even in her older age. I wasn't a big fan of the super short cut. Yes.

Warnings: Cussing and adult language (well that sounds severe).

A/N: There is only one person to blame for my absence from this fic—George RR Martin. Finally read all of ASOIAF and it's amazing. But it stole me away from you guys for too long, so feel free to send some hate mail his way (though I imagine if anyone actually does this he will be mightily confused by it).

Anywhoo—this chapter is dedicated to my beta, Lilpumpkingirl—not only was she amazing enough one to be like "uh, Bulma needs to confront Vegeta about what the hell he has been doing," but she has also just gotten engaged! Seriously, congrats Lilpumpkingirl, send her some loving, and if you haven't yet, please, go check out her fics!

One last big thank you to all of my readers and reviewers—you guys are really amazing. I have been missing but you keep sending me your love and your thoughts to me and I want you to know that makes all the difference to me. Especially those of you brave enough to friend me on tumblr—I love talking to you all!

Chapter Thirty-One: What you Owe Me

Goku arrived back in London three days after he had left it. Riding by himself, he should have arrived a day earlier since he did not have to travel by carriage—but he had gotten lost and had somehow lost the slip of paper that had the name of the town Vegeta had left his precious horse in. So it had taken an extra day to try and trace the route that Vegeta would have taken, looking for the horse that was not to be left behind. In the end, Goku had found himself stopping at practically every inn asking, "Did a short, angry looking man with spiky black hair stop in here two days ago?"

He had not started out asking about short, angry men with spiky hair, as his questions had been a lot more diplomatic, asking if a Duke had stopped in here recently. But he found himself getting told long winded tales by puffed up proprietors about how their inn was so special a Duke had once graced it with his presence and blah blah blah…. It was aggravating to say the least. He had then tried to describe Vegeta in a, once again, diplomatic way—but dark hair and dark eyes did not really get him anywhere. Slowly but surely his description had become less diplomatic, and more honest until it had gotten to 'short,' 'angry,' and 'spiky black hair.' He just hoped Vegeta would never find out that was how Goku was talking about him. Some things were better left—well, with Vegeta's pride and temper—were beyond better left unsaid.

By the time he reached Saiyan Manor on that damn horse (what was his name again? Lightning? Midnight? Did it fucking matter?), he had found himself tired, but strangely exhilarated. He knew what his first stop had to be after he was in the stables—straight to his parents. Well he knew it should be his first stop, but that did not stop him from asking after his best friend. Krillin was out, apparently, and Goku frowned, wondering just where Krillin had gotten off to. But he was a grown man, so Goku had only smiled his thanks at the stable hand that had informed him Krillin was not there, and made his way into the manor. It was after suppertime, and he found his mother and father in their favorite sitting room, the two of them, oddly, not talking. His father was holding a newspaper but looking out the window, while his mother was holding some needlepoint, seemingly going through just one stitch over and over again.

Goku waited a second, allowing himself to delight in the sight of seeing them again after such a hectic few days, before gathering himself and walked straight into the room, making sure to smile. "Mom. Dad."

His parents both looked up in shock, and then before he knew what was happening his mother flew into him, wrapping her arms around him. She squeezed him good and hard, letting out a sob before she looked up at him without letting him go, her blue eyes wide for once. "Oh Goku, we were so worried. Are you all right? Is everything all right? Where's Bulma? Are you married?"

His father had stood, moving closer, clapping an arm on Goku's shoulder over his wife's head. Goku had met his father's unwavering gaze, though he could see the concern written in the purple bruises under his eyes that belied how little sleep he had gotten. "Is everything okay?"

Goku squeezed his mother to him quickly, glad to be home with them and patted his father on the back before he finally moved a step back from them, holding both of their hands. "I'm good. Tired, I have not slept much these past two days—Bulma and I are not married."

"Well that is a relief, Kakarrot."

Goku froze, seeing his parents' faces slacken with disbelief and tighten with anger, before he turned around to find the dowager standing in the doorway, her mouth a thin line as she observed him and his family. She took a few further steps into the room straight past the happy family, unnoticing or uncaring of their glares before she sat, occupying the most uncomfortable looking chair in the room. She half turned to look over her shoulder, and motioned to the couch in front of her. "You will sit and tell me everything, Kakarrot, and afterwards we will discuss what punishment shall be served to you for this massive slight to the family you almost caused." Her eyes flicked to his parents, "Tell them they may go. You may see them when we are done."

Goku felt anger flicker inside of him, the likes of which he had never felt before but he forced himself to meet her eyes and calmly told her, "My parents will go nowhere, and there will be no punishment. You do not get to order me around, and you certainly do not get to command them to do anything."

The dowager's mouth tightened so much her lips disappeared, her eyes narrowing into thin slits. All together it gave her a face an animalistic turn for the worse…Goku would like to say she looked like the ape at the top of her cane, but that was being cruel to apes everywhere. "You dare speak to me like that? I would have you remember who I am."

Goku's voice was hard when he could finally reply without yelling at her, "And I would like you to remember that just because your blood runs through my veins—that does not make me your family. This is my true family, and you have no authority over me. You need me much more than I need you. I could go home with them tomorrow without a look backwards, and there's nothing you could do to stop me."

Her face had gone from angry to a stone mask, one he could not interpret nor dare to understand. He could see she was considering saying something, rebuking what he said, but there was truth in his words that even she could not deny. So she just contented herself to stare at him, making it known that while what he said was the truth, there was no way she was leaving without hearing about what had happened in Scotland.

Goku decided that if she was going to be in this room, she was going to hear what he said, but that did not mean he would have to address it to her. He turned towards his parents instead, continuing as if the dowager had never appeared. "I'm okay, and Bulma is okay as well. And, uh…well…." Goku uncomfortably scratched the back of his head, wishing they could have this conversation without the dowager being there, but knowing that it was too late for that opportunity and he was just going to have to grin and bare it so to speak. Goku took a deep breath, then sighed, and bluntly said, "Bulma and I are not married…because Vegeta showed up and married her instead."

"WHAT?!"

The screech that erupted from the dowagers lips and the way her claws tightened into the arm of the chair changed her appearance to that of a vulture, and Goku felt slightly bad from the satisfaction he got from seeing the blood drain from her face. Goku generally tried to find the good in every person, but the dowager had proven to him time and time again that she had none. The dowager quickly turned away, facing the fireplace as she composed herself, and Goku decided to continue to ignore her, as it was not her reaction he was worried about.

He turned back to his parents expecting the worst. But his mother and father's reaction surprised him, distracting him from the dowager as his mother slumped back into him, squeezing him for another hug, and his father took a large sigh of relief. "Oh, thank Kami."

Goku looked at them, tilting his head, curious. "You did not want me to marry Bulma?"

His mother and father traded looks, and his mother smiled at him as she placed a hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. "It was not that Goku. Due to Bulma's…well, situation, we knew she would be better off being married to someone—"

"Do not try and sugarcoat anything for my sake." The dowager was standing again, having moved closer to them, her face placid again, though her voice was full of vitriol. "That bitch was pregnant, and she decided to pin it on Vegeta."

Goku turned to face the dowager, ready to become extremely unpleasant with her, but he felt his mother's hand tighten on one arm, his father's hand on the other. Goku turned over his shoulder to look at them, and his father gave a slight shake of his head. No words were said, but the message was loud and clear: _With this woman, it's just not worth it_. So instead Goku simply stood where he was, crossing his arms as he informed her, "Vegeta got Bulma pregnant and did the honorable thing. You should feel proud that your grandson has honor."

The dowager's face was drawn again, and if it were not so undignified, Goku was sure she would have snorted at him. "Honor? What part of wedding the American whore he bedded is him showing honor? Or doing his duty to this family?" She did not even wait for an answer before she thumped closer to them with her cane, "No matter. You will tell me where to find them, and we will have this marriage annulled. I am presuming that they married this morning. Even if she is pregnant I can convince Vegeta to say he has not bedded her."

Goku felt himself get that perverse satisfaction, again, from looking her in the face and calmly telling her. "It is too late. They were married two mornings ago, and I doubt even you could convince anyone they have not consummated their marriage at this point."

The dowager's whole jaw clenched, her face becoming a mask of hatred, pure and simple, before she calmly took a deep breath, forced her jaw to unclench and just as suddenly as she had entered the room, left it, leaving behind only her icy aura that gave Goku the shivers. In what universe was it possible that he shared blood with a woman like that, but the man and woman in front of him did not? He sighed, thinking that it was the same universe that had allowed him to be raised by the two loving, caring people in front of him rather than that, that…vile woman!

Goku made sure to close the door, locking it this time before he turned back to his parents and gave them the shortened version of events in Scotland, leaving out that while him and Vegeta spoke they were brawling, though he was sure his father (and possibly his mother) picked up on the fact that Vegeta was not going to see reason without some (knuckle-cracking) persuasion. His parents were relieved, and his mother squeezed him again in another hug when he finished.

"You did the right thing, Goku. Those two…well, in their own weird way, they are perfect for each other."

Goku genuinely smiled for the first time in what felt like days at that, before he made his excuses about being tired and dusty. His parents let him go without much of a fight (after one more hug from his mom of course), but Goku still felt guilty when he did not head directly to his rooms. Instead he headed straight to the kitchens, where he was not surprised to see Chi-Chi cutting a piece of meat rather aggressively.

Goku allowed himself a minute to take her in, this strong woman before him, still not understanding why the mere sight of her had his heart speeding up before he softly said, "Chi-Chi."

She turned and Goku tensed, ready for her to aim the knife at him and to block another unexpected blow, but he was not prepared for her non-reaction to his being here. Her mask was as placid as the dowagers had been and she bobbed a curtsy, "M'lord."

Goku frowned, taking a step into the kitchen, saying the first thing that popped into his mind, "I did not marry her."

Once again, she reacted unexpectedly. She acted as if he had not said anything for a long moment, not moving, not saying anything before she said, "Aye heard ye were back and aym preparin' some food for ye. Do ye have any requests?"

Goku stepped closer to her, his confusion growing. "Chi-Chi, did you hear me? I didn't marry her."

Chi-Chi whirled back to the lamb she was cutting off of, her voice neutral as she hacked at the roast meat as if it had personally insulted her. Better the lamb then him, he supposed, "Aye was thinkin' of makin' ye some cold sandwiches. Do ye have any preferences?"

Goku told himself to take the hint, to let her go to go away and come back tomorrow when she had time to process him being back here and unmarried. But, instead, he found himself grabbing her shoulder and turning her to face him, needing to see her, needing to see the real her. "Chi-Chi, what's the matter with you? I'm back. I didn't marry her."

Chi-Chi's facade slipped for a second, but then she looked over his shoulders, refusing to meet his eyes, "Aye dinna see what this has to do with me. This is naught of me concern, m'lord."

Goku let go of her shoulders, and ran his hands through his hair in aggravation before he blurted out, "I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was gone. It was the one thing I knew I would miss when I was gone…it would be you."

Her voice was haughty, "Me cookin' ye mean."

Goku emphatically shook his head, though the woman's cooking did win him over in the beginning. It was her strength, her inner and outer strength that was, that kept him coming back to her, thinking about her. His brave little warrior cook. Or so he had thought…. "No, it was not your cooking I couldn't stop thinking about. It was you. When Vegeta showed up, you know what my first thought was?" She still refused to meet his eyes, but she gave a slight shake of her head and he sighed before continuing. "Oh good, now Chi-Chi won't be sad, and I'll be able to see her again."

Her eyes softened at that, but then he saw her force herself to stiffen, her arms crossing in front of herself, though, he considered it a small victory that she met his eyes again. "Ye were the one who left without even sayin' good-bye."

Goku sighed, looking down before he looked into the dark depths of her eyes. "I know. I'm sorry. It was just…she's my sister. I owe her and her family so much, and I thought for once I could repay them for all of the kindness they've shown me. For once I could do something for them. They've given me everything, and well…." He left some words unsaid, but he knew she would understand. She seemed to understand him better than he did himself sometimes.

Chi-Chi looked down then, frowning, before she looked back up. Her face was not softened, but it was not an emotionless mask either, nor could she completely hide the waver in her voice when she spoke, "It's just…if next time ye decide to run off without me…if ye could…tell me yerself. Okay?"

Goku knew she was still mad at him but it seemed as if she mostly forgave him and he gave a sigh of relief at that before he agreed, forcing himself not to reach for her to hug her, though he wanted to, to reassure her with words as well as actions. "Okay. And I won't…run off without you I mean." He gave her a grin, and she smiled softly back at him

She turned towards the food she was preparing, looking at him over her shoulder, and meeting his eyes again. Her tone was more teasing when she spoke next, "Now I know ye. How hungry are ye, really Goku?"

Goku rubbed his hands over his belly, "You know me—I'm starving!" As he did though, he was reminded about the piece of paper in his pocket, the one he had not taken out since he had seen it in Scotland. He forced himself to now, unfolding it carefully, before he frowned, looking at Chi-Chi. "There is one thing though… Chi-Chi, what's this?"

Chi-Chi looked over her shoulder, a questioning smile on her face before she saw what he was holding. He literally saw her freeze, and could see the need to flee again come up in her. He immediately stepped into her path, and as one of her arms came out to hit him, he grabbed it, before he grabbed the other hand that had come up a second later, moving his legs back a step as she tried to kick his feet out. They struggled, but Goku ended up with his arms wrapped around her as she wiggled, pinning her arms to her side, holding her legs between his own. He was glad that even though she was quite strong, he still outweighed her, and well, he was a world-class fighter. Chi-Chi really did not have much of a chance against him. He looked down at her when he had her immobilized, seeing the panic in her eyes and trying to comfort her even as he held her prisoner.

His voice was soft, imploring, "Chi-Chi, you can tell me anything. What is going on?"

Her face softened and he thought he had her, but then she surprised him by pushing herself up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips to his in a kiss that he had not seen coming.

Goku was so shocked by the flash of warmth he felt from her lips that his arms and legs slackened. He cursed himself, knowing that was the opening she was going for, but she surprised him (and herself as well, he later found out) when instead of running from him, or pushing away from him, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer to her as she deepened the kiss.

Goku happily responded to her kiss, the paper he found pinned to that board days before floating from his fingers and it hit the ground with a whisper that neither heard nor acknowledged. On it, a drawing of a woman who remarkably resembled Chi-Chi. Sprawling words at the bottom placed the woman as the missing daughter of the Ox, King of the Clansmen in Scotland.

* * *

><p>Bulma was proud of herself the next morning when, the first thing she did was speak to Vegeta about everything that was bothering her.<p>

Well, technically not first thing. It seemed since her and Vegeta were sharing a bed all night, she would just close her eyes for a second before he would be kissing her (sometimes on her lips, sometimes…well, other places) or touching her (she had woken up once with one hand between her legs the other massaging her breast, as he ground himself slowly into her backside, and she was not going to complain about that) awake ready to go again. Not that she minded much, truth be told—Vegeta was passionate in the bed as he was in the Opera, the gardens, the library, anywhere else she might have imagined him, and she always welcomed him with open arms. Technically when she spoke to him it was the third time she had woken up with the sun filtering in through the still shut curtains, but it _was_ the first time they had spoken words to each other, other than 'Kami,' 'Ohhh…right there,' 'Faster,' and a bevy of other dirtier things Bulma was not quite ready to think of.

But she was not going to get caught up in the semantics of it all. She was awake before him for once this morning, and she was going to take advantage of that. First she just needed to put some clothes on and some distance between them, because Bulma was no fool. If their first night as a married couple had taught Bulma anything it was that she was powerless to Vegeta's overtures. Like seriously she could not function, brain shutting off, going off of feelings, powerless. Not that she minded much at the time. She just hoped he never realized how much power he had over her.

Not that she did not have power over him as well. If anything, she had grown more bold every time he had woken her up, and Bulma was more than pleased to discover just where she could press with her lips, or touch with her fingers, or stroke with her tongue, or which way to circle her hips to have his gasping her name in pleasure. She found that he especially liked it when she got a little more rough with him—as she looked at him as she slipped out of bed she could clearly see the love bites she had left on him, as well as the scratches down his back and arms from her nails. None of them were done maliciously—just sometimes when he was—well, driving her crazy—she lost control of herself as a lady (and what a relief that was!) and found herself raking her fingernails down his back with pleasure, or biting him to stop the screams from coming.

Bulma forced herself to stop staring at Vegeta where he slept (though she had to admit even asleep he did not look peaceful and that worried her), and to turn to the nearest closet she could find. The second she walked in, she knew it was his simply from the scent. That masculine odor that was pure Vegeta, and was going to be the death of her one day—seriously, how much control had she let this man have over her if his mere scent had her standing dazed in an open doorway fantasizing about going back to that bed and waking him up the right way? She took a moment to idly drag her hand around the hung clothes she saw before her (almost all of them black, though a surprising few were dark grey, and one or two white shirts) before she saw a set of robes in the back.

She was just shrugging on a black one when she heard the closet door open behind her. She whirled in the process of tying the robe, and found her hands tightening on the belt as she saw Vegeta leaning against the doorway crossed arms and legs crossed at the ankle, smirking at her as he took her in in the robe that was gaping right at her chest. His eyes flickered down to the exposed flesh, and Bulma felt her chest constrict with desire as his eyes darkened, his tongue coming out to slowly lick his lips.

Her own eyes dipped further and saw that he was already hard, his cock standing tall, flushed with desire for her. Bulma felt her resolve to talk to him melting away, replaced with that burning desire that never really seemed to go away around him, that just turned into a simmer when he was not looking at her like he currently was. All it would take would be for her to cross the few steps to him, and she would be back in his embrace—hell, she was sure if she cocked her hip the right way he would—

_Bulma! Bulma what are you doing? Stop that and talk to your HUSBAND already!_

Bulma was not sure where the voice inside of her had come from, or whose voice it was (a mix of her mother's and sensible Bulma—where the hell had she been, by the way?) but it was the necessary bucket of proverbial cold water she needed to douse her desires—mostly—and Bulma quickly averted her eyes, looking up to his face. Though when she saw that he was looking at her like he was a starving man and she was dinner, Bulma forced her eyes even higher, to the ceiling. She felt slightly ridiculous, but she knew it was the right thing to do. This was just another instance of her own senses working against her when it came to this man.

"Vegeta, hold on. We need to talk."

His voice was thick, hoarse with desire and even that got her pulse pounding. "Later, come here." Bulma sighed, wishing she could tune all of her senses out right now, as they were the ones pushing her to forget about having to talk to him. So far her own sight, hearing and smelling were working against her—she knew if she so much as tasted or touched this man she would be completely undone. "Woman…."

Bulma stubbornly kept staring at the ceiling above her as she frowned at that endearment he had picked up for her somewhere along the way between last night and this morning. But she knew that was just a small battle in the war she was going to be fighting with him as she told him everything that was concerning her over these past few months of knowing him and she decided to drop it. For now.

"Vegeta, I mean it. I need to talk to you."

There was a pause and she heard him take a step closer and Bulma's body tightened with desire as she imagined him coming up to her, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to the bed to have his wicked way with her. She was disappointed when he instead reached past her for another robe (though incredibly pleased he was listening to her), tying it around him before he spoke in his usual gruff voice, "Woman, you can look at me now. I'm clothed."

Bulma dropped her eyes, but pulled then back up when she saw he had not grabbed a robe, but a towel. Yes, the most indecent part of him was technically covered. But nothing else about that perfect body of his was, and even though she had come to know him more intimately last night, if anything that seemed to make her desire for him worse. She knew exactly how she could talk to him to have him melt into her, and she wanted to do nothing more than that, right now. Still, Bulma knew an opportunity when one was handed to her and she was not going to chance having Vegeta finding an excuse not to listen to her, especially because she had things to say. Things she had been thinking on quite heavily, even since he had brushed her hair last night. Yes, she had not had the most amount of time to think about things, what with Vegeta and his distractions, but Bulma was nothing if not a quick learner, and an even faster thinker.

She forced herself to look at him when she could, dead in the eyes as she said, "I have every right to hate you right now."

His face closed off so quickly, it was hard to reconcile the living breathing man she had spent the last twelve hours pinned beneath with the one who stood before her in that moment. His voice was already back to that of a man who had no interest in the conversation they were having, the dark, husky tones gone. "Why, because I stopped you from marrying Kakarrot? And forced you to marry me instead?"

Bulma frowned at him, "Don't be stupid. Goku is and forever will be simply my brother. Two nights ago when I first saw you at the inn, as you yelled at me for leaving my room—well I was leaving to tell Goku I could not marry him." She paused, then thought, emphasizing, "I _would not_ marry him."

She saw something flash in those eyes of his—pride maybe—and his voice had warmed up the tiniest fraction (or it could be she was desperately seeking signs that he was actually listening and caring about the conversation they were having) when he asked her, "You were going to turn down a man who would make it so your baby was born not a bastard? And a Viscount on top of that?"

Bulma's mouth flattened, her eyes moving from his to hide some of her anger, though she knew her crossed arms and flippant voice were making it apparent she was not happy. "Believe it or not Vegeta, titles never interested me." She waited for him to scoff, to say something about her now being a duchess, but he did not, and she hesitantly continued trying to put her jumbled thoughts into words. "Yes, Goku was offering me a solution to my problem of being unwed and pregnant, which is why I went with him to begin with…but I realized it was at too great a cost for him, and for my own guilt. Plus, the life he talked about, it…it was not what either of us really wanted. He would be doing it for duty and I would be doing it because that is what society tells us we need." Bulma stopped herself for a second, forcing herself to stay on task, and to not get off topic about the expectations of society. Instead she forced herself to look back at him as she continued, her arms crossing tighter against her midsection, "But that's not why I should hate you."

His nostrils flared as she finished, the softening of his face that had come about during her speech disappearing again. His voice was icy when he spoke next, "Then enlighten me Bulma? Why do you hate me?"

He was getting angry she realized and she should try to stem that before it got too out of hand, but he was not the only one in this closet with a temper that was quick to spark, so she could not stop her voice from rising as she said, "Kami, do you only hear what you want to?! I said I should hate you Vegeta, not that I do!" His eyes widened in surprise at that, before narrowing in suspicion, but she plowed on as she took a step closer to him, her hands out, pleading. "I have every right to hate you after the way you treated me. You took my virginity and continued to chase after me as an object of lust! On top of that, you pursued me only as someone to have an affair with rather than as a marriage partner, which I think speaks volumes for how much respect you hold for me—and then, on the night of the mission, when I needed you the most, you push me away and say some truly horrible things about me!" Her hands turned into fists, and she forced them to her sides, even as she took a step closer to him in the already small space. "You wonder why I was not going to come to you with this pregnancy? It had nothing to do with my thoughts on you as a father but rather on having to face you after you humiliated me so thoroughly that night!"

He tried to cut her off as she took a breath with a supplicating, "Bulma—" but she was not finished, and she bulldozed right over him.

Bulma was speaking without stopping or breathing now, all of the thoughts she had been holding back on coming out of her with no way of stopping them, like some flood of words, coming faster and faster. "Like I could believe anything you said when you were constantly lying to my face. Even the one question I asked you that night, whether or not you wanted me? You lied about that Vegeta, I think we proved that last night when you could not keep your hands off of me. And I asked you for to answer that truthfully, on your honor! Why should I ever trust anything you would say to me?! Did you set out to try and make me feel like less than dirt, or is that just the normal effect you have on people?"

She stopped then taking a deep breath and she looked at him, focusing in on him after she had said her speech. His face was flat, but there was some red color on his cheeks, that either spoke of anger, or embarrassment. Hopefully shame. His palms were facing her though, and he had taken a few steps to be closer to her but was standing far enough away that she did not feel like he was crowding her. Still Bulma was not finished and she forced herself to finish saying what she had to say.

"Like I said, I should hate you, and I would have every right to do so. Hell, there are probably people out there who would say you don't deserve to breathe the same air as me…" Another deep breath, and she forced herself to keep his gaze as she crossed her arms around her body protectively, again, falling into herself after her great tirade. "But I don't hate you, and… I can't hate you, Vegeta." His eyes widened at that, but Bulma did not give him the time to think about what she had said plowing straight on, "Vegeta, I want you to be honest with me. Why did you push me away the night at the Regency?"

Vegeta took a step back, his arms crossing over himself as he mirrored her, and alerting her to the fact that he was closing himself off from her—or protecting himself from her—as he spoke in those same icy tones from before. "You're smart Bulma, you wouldn't be asking if you didn't already have a theory so why don't you let me hear it?"

So that was how he wanted to play this? That was fine with her. Bulma uncrossed her arms and took another step toward him, making sure to keep her face neutral as she calmly told him, "I think you were scared."

Vegeta scoffed and she could tell his tone was going to be flippant simply by the way he raised an eyebrow at her, "Scared?"

Bulma pursed her lips, but she ignored the way he spoke to her, barreling onwards so that she would not let herself be disheartened by his answers. "I think that when I almost died you realized something about how you felt towards me. I won't kid myself and say it was love, but I think you felt something towards me that scared you. You are not a caring man, and as far as I can see, you have no one around you you truly care for. No close friends, no real family—please don't try and insult my intelligence by telling me the dowager is someone you truly love deep down, there is no way that woman inspires anything in people other than hatred—and so the second you started to realize that you cared about me, your immediate reaction was to push me away, which is pathetic."

She saw him flinch as if she had hit him, and she prepared herself for what she knew his reaction was going to be. His voice was deadly soft, and hard as steel, his eyes glinting. "Well you have a rather high opinion of yourself don't you Bulma. You were right when you said I care for no one, but that is because no one is truly worthy of my thoughts or feelings. What makes you think you would be any different?" His face contorted into a frown, and he mockingly asked her, "Could it be that I saw how you put your life so recklessly in danger that I revised my opinion of you? Realized you weren't worth caring about?"

She had expected him to go on the defensive, and she had already thrown her barriers up to protect herself from the barbs he would throw her way. Nothing he could say to her right now could hurt her, she would not let it hurt her, simply because she knew this was how he lashed out when she got too close to the truth. Especially since she knew more about how Vegeta thought and felt now. Bulma had things to say, and he was going to listen, dammit—he could throw all the insults he wanted at her but she would still say them.

"Don't try that bullshit with me, Vegeta. It might have worked with your other bimbos, but you should know by now that it won't work on me. You realized I was a weakness so you decided to cut me out of your life before that attachment got too deep. Which is stupid, Vegeta, and speaks about how closed off you are to the rest of the world. And don't bother denying it, Vegeta. I refuse to believe that the way you fucked me last night was the same as you fucked the Widow, or any other woman you've been with before me. You want me to truly believe that you would have married any woman you got pregnant?"

He did not flinch at her use of the word 'fuck' but his lips did thin into a straight line when she asked her last questions. His eyes were practically slits, his voice dripping with condescension when he spoke next, his arms dropping to his sides, fisted in anger. "You have it all figured out, don't you woman?"

She glared at him, unable to stop herself, "MY NAME IS BULMA, DAMMIT!" She took a step back, forcing herself to turn away, to take a deep breath before she decided to see how far he was willing to take this. She could not turn into a screaming shrew, would not demean herself so, and most of all DAMMIT SHE WAS NOT GOING TO CRY. Bulma forced herself to fight the pressure building behind her eyes, to take some more deep breaths so she did not break down in front of this man. She was not surprised he did not say anything after her outburst, but she was surprised he stayed in the closet with her instead of scoffing and leaving her to be on her own.

When she had calmed herself enough, Bulma felt the fight leave her, the anger flowing as if right out through her fingertips as she turned to him, exhausted from everything of the last two days. When she spoke next, her voice was flat, dull, and she was proud it did not shake. "You know what, fine. You want to play it close to the chest like that, or stick to your story of not wanting me, then fine. You already got me pregnant with what could be your heir, and as far as I'm concerned, you don't need to ever touch me again unless this child is a female. So I'll just move into the Duchesses rooms across the way, and you can keep your pride intact."

She made a move to go past him, and she was surprised when he caught her arm instead, twirling her as he reached out to close the closet door, moving her so that she was pressed against the back of it in one fluid move, his face inches from her. "You are mine," he hissed at her.

Bulma resisted the urge to say 'Gotcha.' It had been a last ditch attempt to get to see how he would react, and a bad ploy at that—Bulma could not keep herself away from Vegeta any more than she suspected he could be kept from her. And she was willing to admit she had feelings for the man in front of her, real feelings. But not if he was going to continue to be a stubborn ass that would rather pretend he felt nothing than admit to caring for her in even just the tiniest way.

But she did not smile at him falling for her artifice instead she raised an eyebrow, bringing her face closer to his as she said, "Sure doesn't seem like you feel nothing for me. If you can't even bear to not share a room with me, how am I ever to believe that you could push me out of your life so easily, that you feel nothing for me?"

Vegeta's eyebrows slashed down, and his face became carefully blank as he realized he had been caught. But Bulma was becoming a skilled interpreter of all things Vegeta, and she saw the wheels turning in his head as his eyes searched her face. He let go of her arm, and pulled back from her, leaning away from her as his eyes hooded over. "Fine. I lust after you, you caught me."

Bulma scoffed at that, shaking her head as she rejected that. Her finger poked into his chest as she told him, "If you wanted me to believe that it was only lust you felt for me, then why marry me? You could have kept me as your mistress the night at the Regency, or even after you returned me to London after this madcap adventure to Scotland. Instead you married me, to legitimize the birth of our child. That is not the mark of a man who only feels lust for a woman."

Vegeta quirked his head, studying her, before he said in a voice that was curiously not dripping in sarcasm, "You really do have it all figured out, don't you?"

Bulma almost replied _not everything, as I have no clue how to classify what I feel towards you_ but instead she just said, "If only. But I think I have this figured out." She looked down, then took a step closer to him, her hands on his hips as she pulled closer to him, looking him dead in the eye as the heat of their bodies intermingled, "You pushed me away that night because I was an emotional vulnerability to you as a spy, or to your own self. You married me yesterday because you do have feelings for me, and you don't want me to get married to any other man. You want a future for us."

She stopped, taking a deep breath and searched Vegeta's face for the truth. For any sort of truth, for any inclination as to what he was thinking. He surprised her, though, by giving a slight, almost imperceptible, teeny-tiny nod. Almost undetectable, but a totally there and a totally real nod. Bulma's mouth dropped open in shock at that, as she had been not expecting him to…to…agree with her. She had been expecting more refusals, or for him to just throw his walls up. Instead, she got confirmation.

Bulma knew there was more to say to him, more to talk about with him—but she knew that there would be time enough for that later. Right now, all she wanted to do was cry with happiness—or show him how happy that nod had made her by fucking his brains out in the walk in closet.

She went with the latter.

A/N: As I said at the beginning, a big thank you needs to be sent to Lilpumpkingirl for reminding me that Bulma had every right to be furious with Vegeta—I was too ahead of myself in the story in my head and I would have glazed over this completely. I'm curious, what do you guys think? It's always hard writing Vegeta as anything other than having the emotions of a stone, but with a story like this he will have to break at some point and show some emotion.

Plus, Bulma is a smart cookie, and one of the reasons I think they work so well together is that she knows him well enough now that he is not forced to say the mushy emotional stuff with her, that she just knows it, ya know? Like I said, I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter.

Also, the return of the wicked dowager (boo, hissssss), and finally, an explanation for Chi-Chi's slip up with her accent that a few of my more eagle eyed readers caught onto.

Okay, thanks for reading, until the next installment!


	33. Secrets, Secrets are No Fun

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…I would have made a legitimate Saiyan female character. Who was a fighter. In DBZ, not later, like in DBGT, but someone to go toe to toe with the boys.

Warnings: Cussing and adult language (too many late night cable movies to blame for that…)

A/N: If I would have known how much a nod would affect all of you I would have had Vegeta nodding at everything since the very beginning! Ha ha. You guys, all of my readers and reviewers, blew me away with your amazing responses to the last chapter. I love you all, seriously. Also, if you haven't already, I highly recommend that you guys join the We're Just Saiyan' group on google+. It's a great place for all of us Vegeta and Bulma fans to get together, and I hope to see you guys on there!

And for those other ASOIAF fans out there, check out some one-shots I wrote under my Ao3 account, same username—would love to know what you guys think!

Big thanks to Lilpumpkingirl for being honest with me (and yet still nice) about needing to rework this chapter—she was right, so thank her for not reading the jumbled mess I originally sent to her. Okay, enough blabbing—onto the story!

Chapter Thirty-Two: Secrets, Secrets are No Fun

It would be another full day before Vegeta would allow Bulma to leave their bedroom (or hell, to even get dressed) after they had fought and subsequently made up in the closet. Sure, they had made sure to eat, fresh food delivered to their sitting room—but other than that, they had not left the room. After his little nod (HE HAD NODDED!) they had ended up staying in the closet far longer than was proprietary, the pair of them finally moving to the bed in the mid-afternoon and not leaving until the next morning. Which, strictly speaking, had not been Vegeta's decision. Or choice, or selection, or preference or anything else of that sort. Bulma had woken before him, gotten dressed, and had sat in the chair facing the bed and waited until he had woken up, staring at him with her arms crossed. "You are showing me the property today. Get dressed, or do it naked, but we are _finally_ leaving this bedroom."

Vegeta had growled at the command, grabbing for her, but Bulma had drawn on those long months of anger, remaining cross and stern with him until he finally relented, grumbling the whole time he dressed. Bulma was not sure what exactly he was grumbling about, but she did hear the phrases, "stubborn wench," and "obstinate female," bandied about more than once. Bulma ignored these though (well, she had haughtily sniffed to let him know she had heard him and did not approve), waiting until he had gotten dressed to have him lead her back to the front hall.

There, waiting, as if they had been waiting for the last two mornings (Kami, Bulma hoped not) was the mass of servants who worked there and that she was now—for all intents and purposes—in charge of. Bulma had had to greet the servants with her nose held high, even as she had a blush on her cheeks—what must they think of her and Vegeta? Having been in the house for two full days without leaving their room? But as she had met them, she had been impressed to not see any speculative or prurient looks on their faces…hmm….

Bulma was expecting the head maid to take her through the line, but she was instead surprised (as she surmised the servants were) when Vegeta stayed by her side throughout the whole introduction, presenting every one of the staff to her. Each of their eyes were wide as Vegeta told her exactly who they were and what they did. The only ones who were not surprised were older servants, who only looked on with familiar approval as Vegeta moved through the line, presenting Bulma with another insight into her mysterious husband's past. It was nice to see that while Vegeta was still cool and reserved with them that the servants still had respect for him, a respect that made Bulma's chest puff out with pride as well.

Bulma wondered idly if the head housekeeper, Molly (who looked to be older than Wheatley) would be able to give her more information on Vegeta's life, especially as the older woman smiled fondly on at Vegeta. Bulma put it to the top of her list to pump the woman for information, curious about her new husband's childhood. Until Molly had turned to Bulma, her stare full of suspicion and distrust, which had Bulma putting befriend the woman first on the list, bumping pumping for information down to second—Bulma was nothing if not shrewd at getting information she wanted. Hell, it was why she had made a damned good spy (well except for the whole getting stuck to the side of a building, but that was a horse of a completely different color).

After the introductions, Vegeta had shocked even the older servants when he had been the one to offer to show her around the grounds and the estate itself, cutting off Molly's own offer to do so. Everyone had stared at him, unblinking, while he had looked past Bulma for a second, his eyes wide, as if he himself could not understand why he had made the offer. But then he had shaken his head, and looked straight at her, a salacious smirk on his face, cluing Bulma (and she prayed not everyone else) into what had goaded him into such an unusual offer. Sure enough, as she moved past the heavy doors of the very first room he had escorted her to -a dining room she noted- the doors thumped close, and he locked them, before turning to face her with that smirk of his, explaining, "I thought it would only do as the new man and wife of this property to properly christen every room."

Bulma played dumb then, her eyes wide as she blinked at him, trying not to smile. "Christen the rooms? But how? We have no priest or holy water."

Vegeta stalked towards her, and Bulma had felt a thrill run through her whole body before he grabbed her to him, whispering into her ear, "I'm sure we'll think of something," before his lips had found hers, silencing any protests she might have had (which, if he had bothered to ask, would have been none).

It was not until after the third parlor where they had taken great pleasures in 'christening' (as well as two dining rooms, a music room, and a greenhouse) that Bulma finally put her foot down and looked him in the eye. "No more. Not until I actually get to see the house and grounds." When he had started to look sullen, Bulma had explained, "Do you want a wife who can't even walk around the grounds without you because she has no clue where she is?"

Vegeta looked at her, a hand on his chin as he considered this idea, musing aloud, "You would have to depend on your husband a lot…who you would then have to then reward a lot as well."

Bulma had been flabbergasted, until she had caught on that he was teasing her (Vegeta—teasing her?!), answering the smirk on his face with a smack to his arm. A smile was quick to replace her sullen pout as Vegeta only shot her a devilish look, shaking her head as he led her out of the newly christened parlor. Who was this man and what had he done with her husband? And was it indeed possible for him to go more than an hour without pouncing on her?

Thankfully, after putting her foot down Vegeta had seemed to get the idea, especially once she promised him certain wifely liberties if he actually showed her the grounds and estate without trying to get under her skirts in every room. Though Bulma had made no promises about whether or not her pregnancy hormones would kick in at any random moment, causing her to grab the lapels of his jacket and shove him against the books of the library, not that Vegeta was complaining. Because of this, the already long tour took even longer than either had anticipated, spilling into multiple days, giving them plenty of opportunities to christen as many rooms as they humanly could.

It was fun—even beyond the (still fantastic, heated) sex. Vegetasei was the most massive place Bulma had ever been in, and she found herself intrigued by its long history, as well as Vegeta's obvious pride in the place. As he showed her around though Bulma got a sense about the house, one of…well, it being cold. Cold and lifeless. Like it was all that a great Duke's house should be (a museum to the Vegeta family), but with none of the warmth of a family seat. Vegeta did not realize it, but as Bulma walked she sketched out plans in her head to not only redecorate and add on an area for her to conduct experiments, but to make the place more warm and inviting to all.

She was sure Vegeta was going to looooveeee that.

Though she had to admit Vegeta seemed a different man than she was used to here. More relaxed—though she surmised that could be all the sex. She was learning quite quickly that good sex put Vegeta in a most agreeable state. She even saw him smile a few times, and it warmed her heart to see him be at ease, especially as it kept dawning on her that this was going to be her life. He was her husband, and she could not be upset about that. In fact, she was starting to think that while the road here might have been convoluted, it had all been for the best in the long run now that she was married to Vegeta, carrying his child.

They went for a morning ride on her fourth day at Vegetasei so Vegeta could show her some of the grounds, and Bulma was once again amazed at the total vastness of the space in front of them. Vegetasei sat on thousands of acres, and Bulma only saw a fraction, though Vegeta made sure she was well versed on the best places for them to have sex out of everyone's eye sights and ear shots. He was even kind enough to give her a demonstration by the old lake (not to be confused with the new lake, which sat closer to the house…though the new lake was actually older than the old lake?), in an abandoned boat house where he could make her scream as loud as he wanted to, since no one was around to hear for miles.

After they had righted their clothes they had had lunch from a basket the cook had prepared for them. As they had eaten, Bulma had smirked at him, his eyes only on her even as he wolfed his food down. She could see the gears in his head spinning and she hazarded a (safe) guess that he was contemplating where else on his vast estate he could make her scream like that without fear of them being overheard. Maybe it was the great outdoors, the good food, or the amazing sex, but Bulma felt herself growing more and more playful. She put her own food down as she ran a hand up his leg, his already dark eyes bespeaking fire and heat as she purred, "You seem to know these grounds rather well, Vegeta."

Vegeta had quirked his head, "Of course. This is my land. I have always enjoyed being outdoors on Vegetasei." There was real pride in his voice, and Bulma smiled at seeing this new side to Vegeta.

Bulma leant forward, making sure her (_ahem_) ample charms were spilling over the low neckline of her day gown as her eyes grew lidded, her smile saucy as she spoke, "You seem to know a lot of good places to…be hidden away from everyone." He smirked, even as he kept chewing, and she continued, "Do you find all these spaces with the local girls?"

Vegeta's eyes had grown to slits, even as Bulma kept an innocent look on her face—though they were both aware she was fishing for information. Vegeta had chewed silently for a moment, and she had wondered if he was going to answer. She would not be surprised if this was one of those times that her usually cold and silent husband went all cold and silent on her, but he surprised her by saying, "I did not learn about my property to have relations out here…in fact, you're the first woman I've ever had at Vegetasei before."

Bulma felt a flush of happiness rush through her at that, but before she could say anything, he had continued, "I learned all about my grounds—because of the dowager."

A flash of something came over his face, his eyes pulling from hers for the first time as he frowned. Bulma gulped, and tried to lighten the mood quickly, as he physically and emotionally pulled away from her, her tone joking, "Is that why you know all of the best places to be hidden away?" His face grew even gloomier in that moment and Bulma felt that flush of happiness turn to sadness as she saw the troubling way Vegeta's jaw was working, though he was no longer chewing. "Oh."

Bulma had not expected him to answer her or continue the conversation, but while Bulma had scrambled around for another conversation starter (she was not good with silence) Vegeta had surprised her by softly saying, "I did not want to hate her when she first came here…I was only seven and my mother had just died." He stopped, and Bulma dared not breathe lest that stop him from talking.

But he seemed not to even realize she was there as he went on, his eyes unseeing, lost to the past as he was carried to memories of days long ago. "She was cold, but I was used to that from my father. It was," he paused again, taking a breath, his voice low when he continued, though she did not miss a single world, "She was heartless. Even with those of us who were family. It's why I have never been able to call her grandmother—she was callous, and she wanted to do nothing more than to make my father and I as ruthless as her."

He was completely calm, calm as the surface of a lake on a windless day as he spoke, but Bulma watched his face for the nuances she had come to know from him. A small twitch of his eye let her know that he was hurting more than he wanted to admit, while the tightening of the muscles in his jaw let her know how angry he was. "Her first month here she discovered that I was afraid of one of the room's, a story attached to it that a great-great-great-grandfather of mine had been killed by his mistress or his wife, before killing herself, the pair of them forever haunting their old rooms. Even the servants refused to go in the room, on account of odd things happening to them in there…. But I am not a servant, and the dowager would have no fear from the future Duke of Vegetasei."

He stopped again, and Bulma felt herself take a breath, unaware that she had been holding hers as he spoke. Vegeta continued on though, unaware that Bulma's hand was covering his, her eyes locked on his own, "That next night, the dowager forced me to spend the night in that very room I had developed a phobia of in my youth. I remember pounding against the door, begging to be let out, but she only told me she would be back to let me out in the morning, and that I was to see there was nothing to fear from a room—then her footsteps as she had walked away, leaving me."

Bulma's mouth had dropped open at some point in his softly spoken story, her free hand covering her mouth in disbelief. How could anyone be so horrible and cold to a child? There was nothing unusual or wrong about Vegeta having a fear of a haunted room, especially at such a young age. Even the country seat they had in New York had a story or two of a haunted room attached to it, which Bulma was not proud to admit she still ran past, though she was past her twentieth year. To force a child of seven to be locked in such a room for a whole night?

Vegeta looked back at her as he continued, his black eyes icy chips. "The worst part was the next morning when she unlocked the door, finding me huddled in the corner of the room. She did not ask if I was okay, only asking me if I was still afraid of the room. When I had told her no, she had made me thank her for her help, and to thank her for putting my best interests at heart. She had seen nothing wrong with how she had treated me." He let out a sigh, pulling his hand from her own, rubbing his eyes, clearly frustrated, "Even after that night I still had thought that the dowager might love me as my mother had—until a week later, when she realized I was too close to a scullery maid's child, the only friend I had at the time. She had them sent away the next day, saying he was not proper friendship material for me, the 'future Duke of Vegetasei.'"

His tone grew mocking with his last statement, and Bulma realized it was because it was something he had heard numerous times from the dowager herself. He sighed, grabbing the sandwich he had been eating, shoving it in his mouth and chewing rather ferociously, letting her know that he was done talking about this.

Bulma considered pushing him further for information, but seeing the determined glint in his eye, she let it go. As they sat in silence, his chewing filling the silence. Bulma thought back to their conversation the other morning, in the closet. No wonder he had pushed her away, not just because she could be a liability to his spy career, but because he had learned from a young age that any emotion, any attachment was a weakness…. Kami, Bulma wanted to kill the dowager. Not only would this woman force a _seven year old_ to confront his fears, but also she would take away his friends? No wonder he had turned out as he had! Bulma should be more surprised he was not a homicidal maniac or anything….

Vegeta suddenly stopped eating, throwing the sandwich down hard, and Bulma blinked at him. He refused to look at her though, his frustrations giving him that hard look she had not seen since the night at the hotel. Bulma frowned as she remembered how well that night had gone for both of them, and decided it was time to cheer her husband up. She crawled into his lap, ignoring the shocked look on his face, surprising him as she kissed him on the lips before she brought her mouth to his ear, whispering, "Want me to kill that bitch?"

Vegeta had reared back, looking at her, before his face had smoothed into a small smirk as he pulled her closer to him. His lips remained on her cheek, as his hands traced from the sides of her back, around to her front, resting on her knees for a moment. His lips moved to her ear as one of his hands ran up the length of her thigh under her skirts, before finding the opening of her drawers, dipping his fingers into the slit there. "Tempting, but I think I'd rather use you in more pleasurable ways for both of us," effectively cutting off any real conversation from either of them for the next hour as his mouth claimed hers.

They rode back to the house slower than they had ridden out since Bulma was sore (but not complaining), and Vegeta had kept pace with her, unable to tear his eyes off of her. These last few days with her had been, well, they had been a revelation. Vegeta had been tempted to foster her off on a servant originally to show her the grounds and the estate, but he was glad that he had not. Beyond the reasons of getting to have sex with her in some new rooms (and positions), he had been pleased to show her where he had grown up. He got real pride from seeing the amazement and approval shining through her eyes, and Vegeta was feeling cocky. Especially after their interlude in the boathouse. Both of them.

But that was beside the point (heh, heh).

He did not know what forced him to tell her about the past, with the dowager—but she deserved to know. He wanted her to know why he was, well, the way he was. Why he would never be a normal husband to her. He also wanted to really drive the point home that once their child was born that the dowager would not be allowed anywhere near it. He really could not stress that point enough. He wondered if he could get somehow put that in his will as an amendment….

When they got back to the house, Vegeta swaggered into the great hall, which was full of pictures of all of his forebears and the past nine Dukes. He decided it was time to impress her with some family history before he found a room they had not christened yet, and set that to right. Bulma was an avid listener, and he recounted as much as he could remember as they passed under larger and larger paintings of those who had come before him. His heritage was that of the most direct descendants of the Saiyan warriors who had once ridden and ruled most of the world.

Bulma smiled as they reached the sixth Duke and Duchess, both with the Saiyan trademark black hair, holding their child, also with flame-like black hair. "Do any of your relatives not have spiky black hair?"

Vegeta shook his head, "Before the line of Saiyan's died out, we only married other Saiyan descendants, who all had black hair and black eyes. In fact…you might be the first Duchess of Vegetasei not to have the right hair and eye color." It was an odd thought to strike Vegeta, and one he had not considered, though he cockily added, "Not that I foresee this being a problem. My heir will very obviously have my hair color and eye color. No Saiyan has ever been born without black hair and black eyes."

Bulma crossed her arms, though she looked amused. "Oh good. I would hate for my blue hair and eyes to somehow show up and ruin everything."

Vegeta, realizing she was trying to needle him, only picked up her hand and patted it, as if he had not understood her. "It won't. Don't worry." The way she had turned red with anger had been worth the smack he had earned.

As they continued down the line they finally got to his grandparents, and Vegeta found himself facing the disapproving visage of the dowager. A much younger dowager, but no less severe and haughty looking than the one still alive today. "Tell me, Vegeta," Bulma started, pulling him from his contemplation of the dowager. "Does anyone ever smile in these portraits?"

Vegeta quirked his head, thinking back to the ones they had just gone through, and the ones he had not even shown her, and shook his head. Frowning, he spoke the only truth he knew. "Our family…it is very serious. You know our motto 'honor before all, respect before anything.' Happiness is not part of our motto, nor is contentment. I was raised to understand the good of the family always came before my own desires and wishes." He stopped, blinking, before he continued on, "Bulma, I have been taught from a very early age how important those words are, to me as a person and especially to our family."

She spoke softly as she brushed her hand on his shoulder, "I know Vegeta. I will do my best to live by them as well."

Vegeta did not say anything to that, instead nodding as he looked back to the more than life-size portrait of the dowager glaring down at him. A perverse part of him wanted Bulma to help him buck those words, like the reckless eighteen-year-old Vegeta had done, when he had joined the royal navy to get away from the dowager and his father and all the pressure…but look how that had turned out for him. How many people had to die for his hubris?

Bulma frowned when he did not say anything, but then gave him that winning smile of hers. "Well if I am the first Duchess not to have black hair, I will also be the first to smile in my portrait. I don't think that will bring too much shame to the family."

Vegeta turned to look at her for a second, an eyebrow raised, before he turned back to his grandparents. He could almost hear the lecture the dowager would have for that, but instead he imagined the pleasure he would get from the sure to be abject horror the dowager would show as she saw how Bulma had posed for the photo. That thought caused a genuine smile to light his face, and he turned back to say something to Bulma—only to notice that Bulma was moving ahead of him, on to the next extremely large portrait which would contain him, his mother, his father…and—

"Bulma, are you feeling tired? We can stop here and get you some rest." Panic welled in him, his voice coming out raspier than he intended, as he rushed to her side.

Bulma stopped walking as she had glanced at him over her shoulder, looking at him queerly. "No, I'm feeling quite all right. A little tired and sore, but that is your fault as much as it is the walking around today." She gave him a wink and kept walking, oblivious to the rising alarm he was feeling.

_Shit_. Vegeta decided to try a different tactic and distract her. He caught up to her, his hand grasping her elbow, his voice low and husky when he spoke next, "Bulma, come here. There's a sitting room through here that we haven't seen yet, and I think you would really enjoy the chaise in there…."

Bulma stopped again, looking over her shoulder at him, before grinning, shaking her head as she pulled from his grasp and continued walking. "Not on your life Vegeta. You gotta give me time to walk and breathe and—hey…who's that in the portrait with you?"

_Fuck_.

It was too late.

Vegeta moved so he was at her side, looking at the imposing family portrait that loomed above them. It was large as the rest and quite clearly showed a younger Vegeta, his mother and father…and his younger brother, only four weeks old, a babe in his mother's arm in the portrait. Vegeta quickly looked away, to Bulma, trying to answer her, trying to be vague. "That's just my family."

Bulma frowned at him as she caught his eyes, pointing up, "The black spiky hair gave it away. And that's clearly you…though you must be only six or seven in the portrait…but who's the baby your mother is holding?"

Shit, shit, shit. "That is my brother Tarble." Vegeta quickly changed tactics, pointing to the woman in the picture, "My mother died not long after this portrait was painted—she had had a hard time birthing me, and when my father pressed her into getting pregnant with a 'spare heir,' she had grown sick during the pregnancy. After the birth, well, I later found out she had never stopped bleeding."

He stared up, feeling a wave of grief pass over him as he thought back to how small and alone he had felt when his father had matter of factly informed him over the breakfast table that his mother had passed in the night, before leaving Vegeta to process that news by himself. He felt Bulma's hand rubbing over his arm, and he blinked, looking at her, "Hey, I'm sorry. She's beautiful. It must have been very hard for you." Vegeta nodded at her, hoping they could move on from the portrait, but knowing it would not be that easy, as she softly asked, "What happened with your brother?"

Vegeta took a gulp, clearing his throat before he looked away from her, "He passed away not long after my mother." Well it was not a complete lie—not long after his mother was the same as twenty-four years later, right? Last year was almost the same time frame as twenty-five years ago, right? Vegeta decided not to elaborate, and to let Bulma draw her own conclusions. Let her think what she would…as long as she did not know the truth.

Bulma turned to look at him, sadness in her eyes. "Oh Vegeta, I had no idea you had a brother. You've never mentioned him—was it hard after he passed too?"

Vegeta turned from her, taking a few steps away, hoping she would take his closed offness as simple grief for a lost brother and would let him get away with not speaking about Tarble. Bulma was smart…but she had pregnancy hormones working against her right now, and Vegeta was not a great spy for nothing. He knew how to use people's weaknesses against them, and if that meant taking advantage of an overly emotional woman, then dammit, he was going to do it. He let his voice drop an octave or two, his face emotionless as he simply said, "It's hard to talk about."

He heard Bulma step close to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's okay. I get it, Goku still does not really like talking about Gohan, and that was almost ten years ago. It's tough." She moved so she stood in front of him, smiling at him, causing an odd urge in him to spill all of his secrets to her, to tell her everything about Tarble, about the weight of the world he had resting on his shoulders. That urge was (thankfully) cut off when her smile grew more lascivious, her hand running down his front, her voice dropping low, "Want to show me that sitting room before we get some food?"

The Saiyan in him wanted food. The man in him wanted Bulma.

He blamed it on his high emotional stress that he grabbed her, not even bothering to make it to the promised chaise or sitting room, before he lifted her against the nearest wall, undoing his breeches, and hiking her skirts before he sank into her now familiar warmth. As he pumped into her, his mouth at her neck, absorbing every gasp and moan from her, he wondered if sex with Bulma would ever stop being as all encompassing and consuming as it was.

It scared him that he prayed the answer was no.

* * *

><p>Eighteen watched with weary eyes and a heavy heart as Krillin paced around her small private sitting room. As he wore a hole in her carpet, Eighteen pulled the robe she had put over the scandalous outfit he had not even noticed tighter around her body, his mood making her anxious as he continued to walk back and forward, back and forward. Finally, when Eighteen could take no more of it, he stopped, facing her, and Eighteen had sighed, knowing what would come out of his mouth next.<p>

"We have to tell people." Krillin stood in front of her, palms out, as he pleaded with her, his eyes large and earnest.

"Do we?" Eighteen drew upon all of her years as an icy mistress to answer him casually as she flicked her hair behind her ear. She did not want to act cold to him, but she could not let him see how much his entreaties were getting to her, chipping at her good sense and reasoning, especially as this was not the first time they had had this conversation.

"This is getting frustrating, me having to sneak over here at all hours of the day, not getting to acknowledge you if we meet in public…don't you hate it?"

Eighteen watched him from where she was perched, wondering when he would give up his ridiculous ideas of how their relationship could be a normal one. She had tried to explain to him how it had to be—but every day he had come back here, trying a new tactic with her. Today, as usual, he had snuck in through her back entrance, the same way he would leave, as he had been doing for over a week now, ever since the day in the gardens she had let herself admit how she felt. Eighteen sighed as he kept looking at her with those pleading eyes of his, finally admitting to him, "Yes, yes I do hate it Krillin. Do you think I like it any better than you?"

Krillin turned to look at her, an unusual frown gracing his face, though he quickly shook his head, "No. I know you don't like it any better than me." He walked over to her, sinking to his knees in front of her, grasping her hands, "But Eighteen, I love you, you love me. I want to be with you. I don't want to have hide our love away from the world."

Eighteen's hand went to his cheek, looking into his dark eyes, the earnestness shining through them breaking her heart, "I know Krillin. I feel the same way."

He smiled at her, his eyes looking determined, "Then marry me Eighteen. We can be together that way, and we don't have to hide our love."

Eighteen stood, moving to the fireplace, staring into the flames. She would love to do nothing more than to marry Krillin, actually marry the man she loved—but she could not subject him to her world. If Eighteen married an American, and one who had no money to his name, nor industry behind him—English society would not accept them. It was not for her own sake that this worried her—being a mistress to wealthy men had given her years to harden her outer shell to gossip, to not care of what other's thought of her…Krillin though.

Krillin was a good man, who looked for the best in everyone, and always had a smile on his face, a ready joke on his lips, willing to put anyone around him at ease. Krillin, the man who would help anybody out, give any person who asked him anything of his, always willing to help a friend….

The sharks of the Ton would eat him alive.

No, Eighteen could not see Krillin's introduction to the world as her husband as anything but subjecting him, and their future children, to a life of ridicule and despair. Judgment and whispers would follow them anywhere they went, and she would not put any person as good as Krillin, as innocent as their children would be, through that. "Krillin, you don't understand—English society is very different than American…you would never be accepted. Our children would never be accepted, and I cannot do that to you or them." She saw the hurt look on his face, and she explained further, "It's not that I'm worried about you not being good enough for them. I know you are too good for them. It's them who I don't think are good enough for you, Krillin."

They had had this conversation every day since they had gotten together, ever since Krillin had declared his love for her, then, mere hours later, asked for her hand. Eighteen had been shocked, but more so from her extreme desire to say yes than from Krillin's passionate proposal. She had almost done so, but thankfully her cooler head had prevailed, asking him time to think about it. Well, here they were, nine days later, and she was still thinking about it.

Today, though, she should have known something was different by the way he had brought it up, not even bothering to acknowledge her or the large meal she had prepared for him. She knew he had something up his sleeve for once instead of his usual entreaties and pleas. Now she knew he was about to play his trump card, especially as she saw the gleam of determination in his eyes as he moved closer to her. "Well why do we have to stay in England?"

Eighteen looked back to him, feeling as if the rug had been swept out from under her feet. She could barely manage, "What?"

"Eighteen, you're worried about how English society will accept us or not—but what if we took that power from them? Why do we have to stay here?"

Eighteen was so flabbergasted; she just opened and closed her mouth at him, her eyes unblinking, wide, as she gulped, completely thrown off guard.

Krillin was not done though, and he moved, standing so he was holding her hands as he looked up into her eyes, drawing her attention back to him. "Eighteen, if you love me and I love you, where we are should not matter."

Eighteen stared at him, her mouth working as she thought (and said aloud at the same time), "But…I've never left England before. No one ever leaves England."

Krillin smiled at her, kissing the back of one of her hands, before he continued, "What about Miss Briefs? She's the Baron of Manchester's brother, and she left England so she could marry Doctor Briefs. She's happy."

Eighteen was still so taken aback by this idea, the idea of leaving the country she had been born into that she could only stare at him and blink. To go to America? The New World? Was it not…was it not over run with savages and uncouth people with no manners? The idea was just so—well, for lack of a better phrase—foreign to her.

Krillin was more than happy to keep talking though, squeezing her hands as hope grew on his face, "Eighteen, think about it. In the states, I could open a training gym. I'm a runner-up to the Martial Arts World Championship tournament—that alone would be enough to have people coming into my gym. Sure, we would not be living like how you were used to—but we would be together. And our children—there would be no stigma around them. They would hang out with whoever they wanted, marry and love whoever they wanted," that was when he gripped her hands, his eyes wide, drawing her attention, "Our daughter would never have to marry a man fifty years older than her simply because of financial reasons. She could marry who she wanted when she wanted."

That was what got her—the idea of her own children being able to live the lives they wanted to with no stigma's around them, with no need for the brother to sell the sister to an old man for marriage, to not have their mother's shameful past as a mistress hanging over them, their father's working class background—that was when Eighteen started to get invested in the idea. She looked at Krillin, curious, "Could we really do this?"

Krillin gave her that smile that could light up a whole room, as he spoke faster, getting excited, "We can book passage on a ship as soon as you want. It would take six weeks to cross, but once we are there…Eighteen, we could really make a new life for ourselves. We could live wherever we wanted…" he paused, blinking, before he said, "Well perhaps not the wilderness of the West, as there would not be many people looking for boxing instructors…but New York, Philadelphia, Boston—whatever struck your fancy. You could be your own woman…well, my wife, but you can be who you truly are, the woman I know and love, not some icy member of the ton."

Eighteen quirked her head, making sure she got through all of her questions before she let any of them really take root in her, really let herself get excited about this. "Where would you get the money to open this gym? To book us passage to America? To find us a place to live?"

Krillin shrugged, always optimistic, always smiling, "Does it matter? I could work at Master Roshi's salon for a few years, build up a training base, and find people who want to work with me, maybe get some people to invest. As for living, we can always stay in the apartments Goku let's me keep in New York that are Capsule Corp's. I'm sure I could talk to Goku about helping me out at first…." Krillin looked away, his smile growing, "I really think we could do it, Eighteen, we could make a good life for ourselves back in the states."

Eighteen did not know why she was letting it, but a small seed of hope was planted in her with his infectious smiles and calm answers, and she looked around her small private apartment, before she abruptly dropped Krillin's hands and walked away. She was gone only for a moment, coming back in with a jewelry box, opening it on the table. Krillin walked over to her, stopping at her shoulder as she opened it. Inside were some of the gifts she had ever been given by her past lovers, by the men who had kept her as their mistress. Glittering jewels stared back at them, rubies, opals, emeralds, sapphires, and, most prominently, diamonds. She looked up at him, and she shook her head, "We don't need Goku. Krillin…this is only one of five jewelry boxes I own, filled with presents from the men who used to keep me, including my brother, and my husband. If we sell my carriage, this home, all of my assets, all of my gifts from the men who never loved me…we could do it ourselves." She saw a spark in his eyes, and she smiled, cupping his cheek, "We would not have to ask anyone for help, and we could make a good life for us and our children." She found herself letting out an uncharacteristic laugh as hope bubbled within her, "Hell, we would not have to work a day in our lives if we did not want to."

Krillin touched her hand on his cheek, his face serious, "I would want to Eighteen. I want to use your money to help us make our new life, but I want to take care of you, as you have always deserved to be taken care of. And I don't mean like how these other men took care of you by giving you fancy gifts, though I will shower you with jewelry if that is what you want. I want to give you the life you deserve, the respect you deserve—the love you deserve."

Eighteen was so taken aback by the passion in his voice that she felt unwanted tears welling in her eyes, "Oh Krillin." She could of said more, spilled her heart to him again, but that was not who she was, so Eighteen only hugged him to her, the pair of them finding each other's lips, before he pulled back, his hands grasping into her shoulder's, "Does this mean you will marry me?"

Eighteen smiled at him, a real smile, as she emphatically nodded, "Yes. Of course—yes. As soon as can be arranged. We have a new life to prepare for…and I don't want to wait too long before we start living it."

Krillin only grinned back at her, before grasping her in for a longer embrace, one that left them both gasping for breath, before he pulled from her, smiling, "I have to go. I want to find out the soonest we can leave." He turned back that smile of his so large she would have been afraid of it cracking his face in half if her own was not as large, as he said, "I love you Eighteen."

She only responded by laughing, shaking her head, "I know. Now go. I don't want to wait forever to become your wife."

He just laughed, nodded, and then was gone, leaving her alone with the welling feeling of happiness within her.

* * *

><p>It was weeks later, and Bulma had yet had to discover more about Tarble. The fact that Vegeta had had a younger brother who had died was something that niggled at her conscious, even if that child had died in infancy. She had tried to talk to him about it, but just because they were married, and just because they were having enough sex to last any normal person a lifetime, did not mean Vegeta had had a complete personality transfer and was now talkative. In fact, he had sneered at her after her third attempt to bring it up, his voice cold as he said, "Bulma, I will not talk about this. If you continue to ask, we will get in a fight, and it will be your fault, not mine. You know the man I am."<p>

Bulma had frowned, knowing he was right, but she wanted to counter with she knew the man he could be. She did not think he would take too kindly to that though—no man wanted to know how truly malleable they were. Not that Vegeta was that compliant per say—but she had seen glimpses underneath that cold exterior that gave her hope. Hell, he was down right warm and fuzzy compared to how he once was. Not that she would ever tell him that—she could think of no surer way of making sure he threw the barriers he had let slide back up, and probably reinforce them with steel as they clacked back into place this time.

It was about a week after they had first arrived that Vegeta and her had finally started doing things alone, and Bulma had taken to exploring the grounds by herself. She had already gone to visit two of the villages Vegeta was landlord of, and found herself finding ways to become a part of the neighborhood that was to be her home now, visiting the gentry that had not gone into London for the Season. She had never thought she would be excited to be the lady of a great keep, but Bulma found herself warming to the role, and what it entailed. Hell, she had been groomed for it her whole life, and while throwing parties and maintaining etiquette held almost no appeal for her, helping people, both with her inventions and just her resources, was something she could get behind.

Today was one of the days she was wandering around Vegetasei, Molly (who was slowly warming to her, Bulma was sure of it) trailing her with pen and paper as Bulma detailed what she wanted changed in each room. Vegeta had not been particularly happy about her wanting to change the rooms, as they were his heritage, but the second the older maid had said it was the dowager who had last redecorated, Vegeta had been behind tearing everything down and starting from scratch. Not that Bulma was going to go too crazy—but she did want this place to feel like a home, not a mausoleum.

They had been at Vegetasei for almost three weeks now, and Bulma was already growing extremely fond of the place, and the happiness she had found here. She had never thought she would feel so at home, so comfortable with a place she had not grown up in—and she knew that it was all down to one man. Vegeta. Kami, what kind of an effect was he having on her? Bulma had been so used to feeling misunderstood, alone, even with her family at her side—she had never thought she would meet a man who would understand her as much as Vegeta did. That gaping hole of loneliness she had been sure no one else could get—he got it. Not only did he get it, he made it go away…. Sure, he was cold, and not talkative, or expressive with his feelings at all—but she was getting better at reading him.

And he was slowly showing her he cared for her, in odd little ways.

Her fifth day here, he had called the seamstress, informing the woman that Bulma's pregnancy would not be hidden away with bulky clothes, but celebrated—all because Bulma had told him she hated the thought of wearing so many layers as it got warmer and warmer out. Bulma had not even had to ask, and she had been touched when he had ordered her a whole new wardrobe to wear. He just said he was tired of hearing her complain about how her waist on her dresses were getting smaller and smaller.

Her seventh day here he had informed her he had told his foreman that her laboratory was to be top priority, and would be built as soon as possible, and that any thing she wanted would be at her disposal. He also told her he would have his solicitor meeting with her that day so she could outline what kind of supplies she would need. Bulma had not had to ask for anything, and when she had thanked him, he had only waved his hand at her, looking flustered with her heart-felt thanks.

Her tenth day here, he had given her a necklace that had once been his mother's, that he said he wanted her to have, particularly because the shade of the blue topaz reminded him of her eyes. He had said it offhandedly, but it had really stuck with Bulma, and she found herself wearing the chain with the single tear drop blue topaz everyday, simply so she could touch it and smile as she remembered how there had been red on his cheeks when he had handed it to her. Especially since the pregnancy hormones had caused her eyes to well up, not that she had let him know that as she had quickly turned and fled the room (smooth, right?).

Her thirteenth day here, he had walked in on her as she was sketching in the sunroom she liked to sit in, and brusquely informed her that he was going to send word to his people in America to ship over anything and everything she would need, including that, "Damn horse you keep talking about. What was that blasted beasts name again?" That 'blasted beast's' name was Moonshine, and was apparently being brought over for her, since Vegeta had once heard her say she missed the horse who she had been riding for most of her life.

She could go on and on—but the point was, Vegeta was niggling under her skin, and was no longer just the man she lusted after, the man she could talk to about anything, the man she could relate too on anything—he was now the man she…okay. She was not ready to think those words yet. So she just decided she was going to pretend she had never thought of them, and go back to redesigning his entire family estate. Because she could.

As they drew to another room, Bulma was hit with an idea, "Does Vegetasei have a basement? Or an attic?"

Molly stopped scribbling, the older woman cocking her head, "I don't believe we have a basement area, mum. The foundations of this household are old, built upon a stone foundation, if I'm remembering my Vegetasei history correctly. But there is definitely an attic area—the old nursery is up there, as well as a large storage area."

Bulma lit up at the mention of a large storage area, though she made sure to hide this as she waited until the next room to dismiss Molly, before casually making her way to the attic, trying not to appear too eager. It would not do to have the household know that her and Vegeta had basically been playing the world's longest game of hide and go seek these past three weeks. It had started innocently enough, the fifth day when she had turned to him as he continued the Vegetasei tour, asking innocently, "So where is your secret office this time?"

Vegeta had decided to play dumb, his face blank, "What secret office?"

Bulma frowned at him, "Oh don't try that with me mister. I refuse to believe the house you spend the most amount of time in does not have a secret war room where you have all of your spy stuff hidden away. Now where is it?"

She had expected denials, but instead she had been surprised when Vegeta had given her a smirk, an eyebrow raised as he snidely said, "You're the genius. I bet you can't find it in your first month here."

Bulma had smiled right back, feeling cocky, her competitive edge coming out. "I don't usually take such sucker bets, but who am I to stop my husband from wanting to lose to me?" He had frowned, but she had ignored it, innocently asking, "What are the stakes?"

Vegeta had rubbed his chin, musing aloud as he eyed her breasts, causing heat to flush her body, "Hmm…what do I want from you…months of you being at my beck and call sexually?" She had made a noise, but he had continued, "No, I can have that whenever I want…." Bulma made another noise, a more offended one this time, but he plowed over her, his eyes drifting from her chest, down to the small swell of her stomach, gently placing his hand on the underside of it, "Ah yes. I have it." Vegeta looked into her eyes, his eyes glinting as he met her own, "The name of our child."

Bulma's eyes had bulged out, shock coursing through her. "Seriously, you think your secret office is hidden that well?"

Vegeta had only smirked, "Do we have a deal?" Bulma had frowned as she looked at him, but then had smirked, shrugging, sealing the deal with a handshake. Ever since that moment, Bulma had been determined to win, to wipe the smug smirk off of Vegeta's face.

She had over a week to still find it, and she had to admit she was growing desperate. Part of the reason she had undertaken the remodeling scheme so eagerly was because it gave her an excuse to see every part of the house she had yet to see. If Molly found anything odd about the way Bulma paid special attention to certain walls or wall sconces, tapping them or pulling them (respectively), she never said anything, instead just scribbling Bulma's notations about the rooms down. Maybe she gossiped about Bulma's odd behavior to the other maids, but Bulma figured as long as they thought her slightly eccentric rather than a bitch, it was nothing to worry about.

Today, she was going to try the attic. Bulma made her way, slowly, up the four set of stairs that took her to the top of the mansion, finding a set of stairs that led up to the nursery, and she spent an hour looking around, making note of what she wanted changed before the baby came, though she paid particular attention to the dimensions of the room. It was huge—she was surprised to see how much room was given to the apartments of the nanny and where Vegeta had grown up. It made her lose faith in her idea of his secret room being up here, but she did not give up.

She made her way to where she had found the entrance to the attic was, amazed that the place was not covered in dust as she saw old, out of date furniture mixed with old paintings and decorations that probably had been in style when Bulma had been just a gleam in her father's eye. Bulma did not waste time looking through the older stuff (she would save that for another day), instead going to where she knew the room should be connected to the old nanny's apartments. She knocked a few times, and though it was slightly hollow sounding, it was not enough as she could find no seam (as she could not in the nanny's apartment's) or anything that would lead to a secret room.

Well there went another one of her brilliant ideas…

Bulma sighed, walking over to one of the only window's in the room, opening it as she took in some fresh air, looking over the vast Vegetasei grounds. She leaned on he elbows, taking a second to take in rolling green in front of her, her eyes catching the construction space that was to be her lab—

Wait a moment.

Bulma frowned as she leaned out the window, grabbing the charcoal and paper she always kept in her pocket as she wrote out some equations, before she left the attic, running back to the nanny's apartments, looking out the window in there, taking note of where her laboratory was being built. She frowned, but did some more calculations, wishing she had her compass and protractor with her as she guessed the angles she was looking at, before she gave a satisfactory grin, looking at what she just figured out.

Okay, even if she was off by more than a few degrees, Bulma realized that the space between the window she had looked at in the storage space and this one, while they should only be a few feet away from each other, were more than twenty feet away from each other.

Suspicious, to be sure, and it let her know that there was more than enough room for another room between these two windows—one that was hidden away.

Going off of a hunch (and because she could find no hidden doorways upstairs), Bulma went to the room she figured was directly below the space between the windows, and started looking….

Fifteen minutes later, Bulma climbed up the ladder she had found hidden behind a false wall in a closet, her head popping into a small room, covered with articles, clippings, reports, anything really, and dominated by a large desk where she was happy to see her husband staring at her, blinking at her before he frowned. Bulma pulled herself up into the room, lit by a large skylight, as she grinned at him, "I believe this means I get to name our first child, husband of mine."

Vegeta's frown deepened as he leaned back in his desk chair, taking her in, though she was glad to see a glint in his eye. "Want to tell me why I'm going to have the first Vegetasei heir not named Vegeta in my families history?"

Bulma grinned, always glad to brag of her genius, telling him about her realization of the angle of the view from the windows of her new lab was too big. As she spoke, she started to wander about the room, looking at what he had up on his walls. Vegeta came up behind her once she finished bragging, his hands on her waist, and his lips on her neck as he pressed her body into the heat of his body. She melted into him, but her eyes drew to the clippings on the wall, curious, "What's been going on with Zhelonie? Catch me up. We haven't spoken about it in months."

Vegeta sighed, rubbing his eyes as he stepped back from her, following her movements as she looked at everything he had tacked to his giant board, "Nothing much to tell, unfortunately. We know he's infiltrated the upper echelons of society, but we still do not know who he is. There are always people under suspicion, but never enough proof."

She quirked her head, looking over her shoulder before turning back to the board, "So all of the French people we have found—nothing?"

Vegeta sighed, "No. Obvious French people have been checked in triplicate at this point, not much to report on them. The only explanation we can find is that he is hiding his accent."

That niggled something in the back of Bulma's consciousness, but before she could grasp on it, she frowned, her eyes going large as she recognized a newspaper clipping, one that was framed in her family home, had been framed for about six years now. "Vegeta, what is this?"

Vegeta moved past her, looking at the clipping, of Goku's win at the World's Martial Arts Championship over Krillin. Goku was only fourteen, much shorter than he was now (almost on par with Krillin, who stood next to him) though there was no mistaking it as her younger brother. Bulma watched Vegeta as he looked at what she was pointing at, her heart hammering as she saw him freeze for a second. Just a second, but she had seen it, and it aroused her suspicions as he coolly said, "Ah yes. I forgot I had gotten that from when I hired that PI to find if there was any way one of Bardock's children had survived the boat crash."

Bulma frowned, turning to look at him, "When did you hire this PI?"

Vegeta waved his hand, noncommittally, "Last year, sometime."

Bulma turned to him, confused, "Last year? But this article is almost six years old—Goku is only a boy in it. How did he find a newspaper article that old?"

Vegeta turned from her, hunching his shoulders as he looked at something on his desk, "He was a bow street runner. Who knew what kind of resources he used to find Kakarrot."

Bulma was not placated though, stepping closer to him. "But a newspaper article from America? And one that's almost ten years old? You said he was just a bow street runner—even with your money, how would he even think to check newspapers in America? And why were you suddenly interested in whether or not Bardock's children had lived over ten years after their disappearance? Vegeta—."

He cut her off, as he lunged at her, grabbing her, holding her to him, as his mouth found her own, kissing her until she could not breathe, could not think. He pulled back, whispering against her mouth, "Did I ever tell you about the fantasy I had of you in my other secret office?"

Bulma shook her head, numb from that soul-sucking kiss, and Vegeta gave a dark chuckle that shivered down her spine as he said, "I'd be more than willing to show you it then," before he carried her over to his desk, crashing everything on the floor with a sweep of his arms, before he threw her on it, and fucked her until she was gasping his name over and over again.

It was not until hours later, as they lay in bed that night, that Bulma began to think about the newspaper article again, and a fear that Vegeta might have been hiding more than she had ever been anticipating spread through her. Bulma determined then and there that she needed to get to know all of his secrets before it was too late.

She only hoped it was already not too late

* * *

><p>AN: To be honest, I was a bit worried about this chapter. Since Vegeta did not have countless years of being Frieza's slave since childhood to blame for his closed offness and attitude, I wanted to find something that would believable to the character, as well as to the time period. Hence his long confession to Bulma about just how horrible his childhood was. What do you guys think? Too cheesy? Too un-Vegeta? Awesome and perfect? (Last one, right? Right?!). Anywhoo…hope you guys enjoyed, and hope you, like Bulma, are realizing that this honeymoon period can't last forever….


	34. A Damn Perfect Butler

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…How about we see what Android 17/18's lives were like before they became androids?

Warnings: Cussing and adult language

A/N: So first of all, hey you all, did you miss me? I sure as hell missed you! First off, big thanks to the We're Just Saiyan community/girls (MayMayB and Mallie-3!) who had me on their YouTube show for episode 10! I highly recommend that you guys check out the community and the podcast/YouTube show if you haven't already! Not just for me—but for getting all of Bulma and Vegeta fan's together in one place!

Second of all, thank you to all of my readers and reviewers. No, I'm not dead, and yes, I am still writing! I love you all, and seriously, big thank you to all of you who keep reaching out to say hi. I love talking to you guys—and yes, even your gentle prodding to keep writing. Trust me when I say it keeps me going!

Lilpumpkingirl, you amaze me as always. Thank you my dear. I would not be here without you.

Chapter Thirty-Three: A Damn Perfect Butler

Jeffries had been a butler in the Vegeta household in Mayfair for so long, he could barely remember where he had lived before he had come to Saiyan Hall. He had started as a stable boy when he was taken from an orphanage at a young age, working his way up to a footman inside the house when he proved to have an able and sharp mind that meant he could remember what order the silverware went, and where every guest was to be seated in tense dinner parties. From there, after years and years of serving at least three generations of Vegetasei's, Jeffries had found that his hard work ethic, his ability to remember every little detail, the patience he had been blessed with since birth, and his ability to hold his tongue had earned him the most esteemed position in any Mayfair residence, that of the butler. Well all of those, and the death of the original Saiyan Hall butler, but he did not let that silly detail get in the way of why he had been promoted to butler—he knew it was because of his skills alone.

Jeffries did not take his esteemed position lightly, and had reveled in almost twenty years of being not only the top servant, but in his ability to make sure that Saiyan Hall ran smooth, whether or not there was an actual Vegeta family member in household. Which was why, when anything went less than smoothly, Jeffries took it particularly hard.

Such as the day he had received a total of five notes within as many hours from the newly married Duke and Duchess. Five notes was nothing new to Jeffries, who had just as recently dealt with what must have been upwards of a hundred bunches of flowers for the new Duchess of Vegetasei—but it was the nature of the notes that had thrown him off.

The first note had actually come the night before, so Jeffries amended his own thoughts, realizing he had never been so flustered by six notes in his entire life. The first note, so innocuous, had been in the familiar hand of the Duke's estate manager at Vegetasei, who told Jeffries to make sure the Duke's quarters were in order as the Duke would be arriving that next morning.

The next morning, Jeffries had been surprised to see another Vegetasei servant, wringing his hands as he handed Jeffries a new note. This one was in an unfamiliar, dainty hand, informing Jeffries that the new Duchess would be accompanying the Duke, so to prepare the household for her as well—and that they would be arriving past noon. Jeffries had taken the note in stride, figuring that the new couple, who had been gone since they had married almost a month ago, did not want to travel without each other, and so Miss Briefs—ahem—the Duchess had decided to accompany the Duke on whatever business had called him into town. He had seen to seeking out the head of the maids, and informing the woman to prepare the Duchesses' quarters as well before going on with his usual duties.

It was to his surprise when a second note of the morning—the third in the series—had shown up a few hours after the first note informing Jeffries, once again in the estate manager's hand, that only the Duke would be coming to town, and he would be arriving shortly. Jeffries was a good butler, mainly due to the fact that he could keep a straight face and did not let gossip bother him, but even he had to admit the nature of these notes was a bit odd. But rather than speculate too much, he had only nodded at the note, figuring that the rumors of the new Duchesses' condition were true, and that it had been decided it would be best for her not to travel. He had sought out the head maid, again, informing her that the Duchesses' quarters were not to be readied. The woman, who had been in service almost as long as Jeffries had been a butler, had stopped for a second, linens already in hand, before she too had nodded, going back to whatever duties she had been busy with before Jeffries had found her. Jeffries had folded the note up, giving his own nod, indicating that he now knew that the matter was completely settled, and that he could get back to his own duties.

Which was why, when the third note of the morning had come only an hour after the one before it, this time informing Jeffries to disregard the last message completely (written in the same dainty hand writing as the second (third?) note)—Jeffries had had to stop his current duties to ponder the nature of the notes. Was everything okay on the Vegetasei front? Perhaps the last note had been mistakenly sent out? But he had only stopped for a moment before he had kept going, having served the Vegeta's long enough to know they could be a bit…odd…sometimes, and so he had taken it in stride. The same could not be said for the head maid, who had practically glared at Jeffries when he had informed her that the Duchesses' quarters were to be readied, despite what he had told her earlier. Still, she went about her duties, and Jeffries had nodded, again at nothing, to indicate that the matter was for sure settled this time.

When the fourth note of the morning had shown up only twenty minutes after the last one, in the spiky rushed hand writing one Jeffries recognized as that of the Duke's himself, informing Jeffries in no way or under any circumstances would the Duchess be accompanying himself, Jeffries had found himself completely flummoxed, and more than a little confused on what to do. It seemed to Jeffries the best course of action would be to go with what his own Duke had written him—but…. Jeffries was a little ashamed to admit that facing the head maid one more time, informing her not to get the room ready filled him with a sense of dread, and so Jeffries had decided he would wait another hour to make sure no more notes, conflicting in nature or not, came in that time.

Not ten minutes after the note from the Duke had arrived, yet another footman from the Vegetasei household arrived on the Saiyan Hall doorstep, handing Jeffries another note—causing the poor Butler to consider (for the first time in his long tenure as the main butler) to go lay down in an empty room, and take a nap. Jeffries wondered if it was even worth it to open the note itself, or to just wait for the note that was sure to come after this one, hardly daring to move from the spot he was currently standing in by the front door.

After at least fifteen minutes of no other notes, Jeffries had sighed, resigning himself to opening the newest note. This one was in the same female handwriting as the second and fourth (first and third?) ones, informing Jeffries that the Duke AND DUCHESS were mere hours away from town, and to please prepare the rooms for both of them, and to disregard any notes written in a handwriting that was not her own.

Jeffries had found himself standing in the hall, the last note from the Duke in one hand, the Duchess in the other, feeling at odds with himself, and as if the whole world was conspiring against him. At least he could take some small sense of pleasure in knowing that he had not gone to the head maid again. It was on that thought that Jeffries decided the best course of action to take in light of all these notes was to prepare the Duchesses' quarters, but not to inform the Duke he had done so. Plus, he was man enough to admit that facing the head maid one last time would shred his honor to pieces, and Jeffries was too good of a butler to do that to himself.

The only comfort Jeffries was able to take from the whole debacle was that the dowager was unaware of the sheer number of notes he had received, or even that her grandson was on his way home, as he was already dealing with the Duke and the Duchess and the last thing he needed was another Duchess (former or no) chiming in with their opinion on the matter. He counted himself lucky that she had been gone for almost as long as the new Duke and Duchess had been, having disappeared soon after news of their marriage had reached Saiyan Hall—which meant that whatever opinion she would have on this matter was too far away for Jeffries to care about right now. Though Jeffries was sure that whatever the dowager would add to the conversation would be sure to only guide him in doing the complete opposite.

He might be the perfect butler, but he was still human—and he dared anyone on this planet to deal with that woman for as long as he had and find even a shred of affection for her. Not that anyone knew this, because, as he had said earlier—he was the perfect butler—proper stiff upper lip and all that.

Jeffries spent the rest of the day in fear of another knock on the door, heralding another note from the newly married couple, but he was instead surprised when the next time the doors had opened it had been Vegeta striding into the household, rushing into his office, not even making eye contact with Jeffries as he snarled, "My wife is due to arrive in the next hour. Make sure she does not find me."

Then the Duke was gone as quickly as he had appeared, holed up in his office, and Jeffries had only dumbly nodded at the empty space where Vegeta had just marched through. Well, at least that settled that—the Duchess was indeed coming, though…well, Jeffries was not one to gossip, but the Duke did not seem particularly happy about this fact.

It was not yet the promised hour when the Vegeta carriage had drawn up, holding the new Duchess, who had only smiled as gracefully as Miss Briefs had always done to him, her eyes shining with earnest affection. "Jeffries, I do apologize for the mix up in notes earlier. My dear husband was not informed in the fact that I was accompanying him. I do hope it did not create any confusion."

Jeffries, who had been feeling nothing but confusion ever since the first note of the morning (the second note in total) had come through the door, only smiled, bowing. "Of course your Grace. Might I be the first to offer my congratulations on behalf of the entire household?"

The Duchess had beamed at him, pulling her gloves off. "Thank you, Jeffries. I cannot wait to speak to you more about the household, but first I need to find my husband."

Jeffries, while feeling rather fond of the new Duchess, as she had been the first kind thing to him all day, felt conflicted—especially when he saw she was heading straight towards the office the Duke had locked himself into. Jeffries heeded the Duke's orders, and had stepped in her way, saying the first thing that had come into his mind to distract her, "You arrive not a day too soon, your Grace, as I fear we are in need of a new head chef."

The Duchess frowned past his shoulder as she kept walking, though Jeffries refused to move out of her way, walking backwards to make sure she did not rush past him. "I trust that you are much more capable of picking a new head ch—" The Duchess stopped walking, causing Jeffries to stop walking as well, the pair of them looking more and more of something out of a farce as Jeffries and her halted, eyes locked in a showdown. "Wait, what happened to Chi-Chi?"

Jeffries was amazed that the Duchess knew the name of the old head chef, but he kept his face stoic as he always did when he replied, "She decided to accompany your family as they left for the family suites they decided to occupy once the news of your happy marriage reached them."

The Duchesses' face fell for a moment, clearly the news of her families moving new to her. "So my family is not currently in residence?"

Jeffries gave a small nod, wondering how many times he had nodded today, and whether or not it was a new personal record. "No, your Grace. They have taken rooms in the new Regency, deciding to spend the rest of the season there—they thought it would be best if you and your husband got the house to yourselves as newlyweds."

The Duchess deflated a little as Jeffries told her the news (most curious), though she perked up as she quickly said, "Wait—are you telling me that Chi-Chi left with my brother?" She paused for a second, before tacking on, "…and my mother and father too, of course." Jeffries had stared at her, wondering how much she knew of Chi-Chi's exit, but he had only nodded (again!), caught off guard by how wide the Duchesses grin had gotten. "That is most excellent news."

Jeffries had sighed, especially as Bulma had turned away from the doors of Vegeta's office she had been heading too, hoping she had been taken off the track of interrupting her new husband. He figured after all of this, once the Duchess was settled, he had earned a well deserved sit in his private rooms for the next forty minutes—at the very least!

But then the Duchess had turned, walking right past him as his guard was down, only saying over her shoulder, "Thank you Jeffries. Please let me know when you have a few candidates for the new head chef. I must speak to my husband now…" Before she disappeared into the office her husband had just told Jeffries not to let her into.

Jeffries had stared at the closed door, wondering how she had gotten past him so effectively, before he had turned, going to his private suites, deciding that not only was a good sit in his near future, but a strong cup of brandy as well—he might be the best at his job, but even the perfect butler had his limits.

* * *

><p>Vegeta was not particularly surprised when the door to his secret office swung open, his wife standing where the back of the false bookshelf had been, her arms crossed as she glared at him, looking much as she did when he had fled her this morning. Cheeks red, eyes icy chips—though of course she looked as sexy as ever, and Vegeta found himself wishing he could simply sweep her off her feet and remind her whose wife she was. Vegeta's need for self-preservation fought with his own lascivious desires, leaving him to wonder what had happened to his self-control, around his wife it seemed it was non-existent.<p>

"Miss me, husband dear?"

Vegeta felt his lip pull up in a snarl, his voice acidic as he stood from his seat, mimicking her as he had crossed his arms as he glared right back at her. He knew he did not have a leg to stand on with her right now, but he also knew that his only course of action was to keep Bulma good and angry with him. So he acted as if he had not a clue as to why she was acting as she was, instead affecting the role of the smothered husband. "How could I when you don't let me out of your sights for more than an hour at a time?"

Bulma came into the office fully, the secret door swinging shut behind her with a bang as she stamped into the room. Vegeta surprised to not see rings of smoke coming from her nose. "I would let you out of my sights if we weren't in the middle of a Kami-damned fight! You can't just run out on me without giving me answers! We are married now, Vegeta! When are you going to get that through your thick skull?!"

Vegeta snorted, "I told you where I was going—it is not as if I was sneaking out in the middle of the night like some sort of villain!"

Bulma's mouth hung open, her arms straight at her side as her hands fisted, "YOU TOLD ME—YOU FUCKING TOLD ME?!" Bulma pulled out her reticule, taking from it the note he had received from Basil last night that had set off this whole chain of events. "You didn't tell me anything! If I hadn't been awake when the note was delivered—you would have fled in the middle of the night, not telling me a damn thing!" She walked closer to him, her voice raised, as it had been ever since they fighting for the last day. "Vegeta—you can't just run out on me like that! You owe me answers!"

Vegeta did not even bother to look at the note in her hand, shrugging, "It's a simple note, nothing to get angry about."

Bulma glared at him, slamming the note on the desk separating them, her eyes meeting his as she yelled, "So you're going to pretend that this is what we're fighting about? What we've been fighting about? That this mother-fucking note is why I'm currently yelling at you?! Not any of the other myriad of things we've been talking about—but this simple piece of paper?"

Vegeta shrugged, affecting practiced nonchalance as he studied his nails. The truth of the matter was that this topic, much more than the one they had been fighting about before this whole absurdity this morning, the whole fight of whether or not Bulma was going to accompany him to London, was much safer ground for him. So Vegeta only sighed, looking at her over the tips of his fingers, his brow furrowed, "Well it is currently the reason you are yelling at me like a harpy, is it not?"

Vegeta thought he had already seen how flushed his wife's skin could get in the heat of the moment between the two of them—but he was totally unprepared for how tomato red her face could go as she angrily yelled at him, "A FUCKING HARPY?!"

Vegeta, glad to see her angry, hoping to get her so angry that she would leave him alone, only shrugged his shoulders again, even as he continued to study his nails. He hoped this would be enough to have her steam out of his office, but instead she only turned away, the note crumpling in her hands as she made fists, walking to the far wall. Vegeta watched her as she started muttering something under her breath, something that sounded suspiciously like questioning the legitimacy of his birth. It was only a few tense moments before she turned back to him, her body still tense, though her skin was no longer that alarming shade of red it had been earlier. She walked back over to him, this time looking him in the eye as she flattened the note on the desk, "You know what Vegeta? You want to fight about the note, fine, we will fight about the fucking note."

Vegeta was unprepared for this response, as, truth be told, he did not truly want to get into the note either, but his voice was a practiced bored tone as he said, "Fine. What exactly is your problem with this note?"

Bulma made a show of flattening the note on his desk, her voice still high and shaky as she read out, "'Gardening emergency. Chamomile blooming sooner than expected, your presence required immediately. It is time.'"

Vegeta stared at her, wondering how long he could get her off of this topic as quickly as he had the other ones, or if that right now would be the most appropriate time to try and silence her by putting his cock in that pretty mouth of hers. Knowing the state she was in, she was likely to bite it off, so Vegeta went back to his old standby, his face completely blank as he said, "So? It is just a note."

Bulma's jaw clenched, her eyes flashing as her voice rose again, "Vegeta! You're impossible! I cracked your code long ago—this is a spy emergency, isn't it? Chamomile—that's the codeword for Russia—what is going on exactly? You used to tell me everything—why won't you just tell me what is going on? I'm worried about you!"

Vegeta felt a pinging in the area he would say was his heart, a clenching there, a feeling of guilt he wished he could ignore—but damn it was hard to do so when Bulma was standing here in front of him, asking him to spill all of his secrets to her. How he wished he could. Just for a moment, to let his guard down like he had seen her do with him over these past three weeks, to tell her exactly what was going on—instead of returning to his old standbys of lies and subterfuge. Somehow the spy game lost its fun when it meant constantly lying to Bulma and avoiding all of her questions.

But she could never know what he was hiding, so instead, Vegeta drew himself up so he stood over her, his voice low and threatening as he quietly told her, "I will not rehash this argument with you Bulma. As I told you last night, I came to town to deal with personal business, and you did not need to come. The fact that you found this note and are projecting all sorts of paranoia over it is not my concern."

Bulma's voice was a hiss as she leant closer to him, her palms on the desk, "I am your personal business! Your future child is your personal business!" Bulma moved, stalking around the desk so that there was only an arms length keeping them apart as she poked him in the chest, "Did you even stop to think what would happen if you showed up to town—by yourself—not three weeks after you had married me? What kind of gossip and rumors would start, especially since I am to give birth to our first child well before our nine month anniversary?"

Vegeta stopped, a new faucet to the argument hitting him. He decided to leap on it, hoping to distract her from what were becoming increasingly more and more dangerous topics for him to talk about with her. He knew that he was purposefully misunderstanding Bulma's argument now, but he decided if he could distract her with the more inconsequential parts of their argument, that it would be better for both of them. He acted like he was obtuse about their whole argument, his eyes widening purposefully as if he finally understood something. "Wait—this is what this is about? Public opinion? You followed me to London and have been fighting with me because of your reputation?"

Bulma's mouth grew slack, and Vegeta was pleased. He knew that Bulma could care less about public opinion, but that she was angry enough that any tiny thing he accused her with would become her newest focus in their fight. He knew he was taking advantage of an overly emotional pregnant woman, but he needed her distracted. The last thing he needed was for her to really understand what was going on with him—especially when she was so close to putting all the pieces together. She was too smart for her own damn good, and he was trying to save her from what was sure to be needless emotional pain.

"YOU THINK THIS IS ABOUT MY REPUTATION?! THAT ALL I CARE ABOUT IS WHAT OTHER'S WILL THINK ABOUT ME?!" Her voice went quieter, but it wavered, and Vegeta felt as if he had been punched in the gut as she whispered, "Do you even know anything about me?"

Bulma turned away from him again, which was fortunate timing for Vegeta as he did not think even he could keep his face perfectly still and emotionless as he watched her hand come up to her face, clearly dashing away tears as she took some deep breaths, before she turned back to him. It was all time Vegeta needed to make sure he still looked bored and uninterested in this whole thing, though it took all of his skills to not argue back as Bulma resignedly told him, "You know what Vegeta, yeah, that's the only reason I followed you into town. Because I'm worried—oh no, not about you, or what kind of mess you have gotten yourself into—but about public opinion." She drew away from him, going to the closed door, her hand already on the handle before she stopped, looking at him one last time as she said, "If you don't want to tell me what's going on with you, fine. If you don't want to acknowledge what I said to you the other night, that's fucking fine too, because that's your choice and there's only so much I can do and say before…."

Bulma stopped again, and Vegeta watched, curious as she took a deep breath before looking at him again, her eyes still bright with unshed tears. "Since I followed you here, and people are going to know we are back in town we might as well attend one event together as a married couple. You can pick it, but you better spend the whole Kami-damned night with me, or else…."

Vegeta waited for her to finish up, to threaten him almost comically as he had grown used to when they fought, but instead she had surprised him when she had twirled from the room, leaving him standing there by himself, leaving him alone to grapple with his inner demons.

* * *

><p>Bulma stood on the other side of the secret doorway for longer than she intended, not wanting to run into Vegeta again when she was feeling so emotional, but not quite ready to face the rest of the household in her current emotionally volatile state. She simply stood in his fakereal office, her back to the door, staring sightlessly out of a window that showed her nothing more than the Saiyan Hall grounds, trying to put a reign in on her thoughts and emotions

There were so many holes, so many shadows in what Vegeta had told her—not only about why he had needed to come to London but his life as well—and Bulma could not fight the growing feeling of unease that threatened to choke her as she thought about just what he could be hiding from her. Bulma was sick of not knowing the truth about her husband's past—and since she knew the last person who would ever open up about said past would be her husband, she had decided to reach out to someone who could shed some light on it for her.

Bulma heaved a sigh as she exited the office, wishing that Goku or even her parents were still in residence, as she desperately needed someone to talk to about what she was going through—but after such an emotional day of fighting and traveling, Bulma only found her way back to the butler she had slipped past not an hour earlier, making sure she was smiling as Jeffries warily watched her as she approached. "Your Grace."

Bulma smiled prettily, trying to put the man at ease, "Jeffries, could you tell me where the dowager is?"

Jeffries had proven himself to be the most stoic of stoic butlers since Bulma had come to London, but even he could not fight the widening of his eyes as he dazedly repeated, "The dowager?"

Bulma only nodded, repeating, "Yes, the dowager."

Jeffries stared at her for a long moment, before he let out a very uncharacteristic hiccup, covering his mouth with his hand as he looked at Bulma, shamefaced. "Madam, do forgive me."

Bulma tilted her head, the scent of alcohol wafting to, and she smiled in understanding. Bulma could only imagine the confusion and flurry Jeffries had felt at each new note that had arrived earlier, so she forgave him for drinking as she only shook her head, "No apologies needed. Please just inform me where the dowager is."

Jeffries looked relieved, though there was a red blush on his cheeks even Bulma could not miss as he informed her, "The dowager has not been in residence for some weeks. Though she did leave her things in her rooms, so I would assume she will be back soon."

Bulma frowned, knowing her only lead to Vegeta's past was currently not in residence. She looked at Jeffries, speculative for a second, wondering if he would be willing to divulge in his masters secrets, before she dismissed the idea. That man had clearly already had a tough enough day, so Bulma only nodded before she decided since she was unable to partake in alcohol in her current state, a good nap would have to do in its stead.

* * *

><p>Piccolo found himself standing under the awning of some sort of store, on some busy street in London, his statue like stillness at complete odds with the utter insanity of the city itself. He had been here for almost five long months now, and he still feared he would never grow used to the bustle of the world's busiest city. True, he had seen New York City plenty of times in his career and tournament life, but nothing could prepare the Indian from the backwoods of Canada for the true…packed-ness of London.<p>

Piccolo had never seen so many people, animals, and buildings packed into such a small space—though right now his attention was not on the usual zoo-like craziness of the city, but on the doorway of the Regency, the hotel he was standing across from. It had been five months since he had come to London, seven months since he had last seen his home, and he was growing more and more anxious to finish up the business that had brought him to London in the first place.

He had almost lost the trail of the reason he was here due to resting on his own complacency, and he would not make that mistake again. About a month ago when the Duke had been pulled from their fight by his bald…valet? Goon? Piccolo had never truly learned the big bald brute's role in the Duke's life, but that was because he was of no concern to Piccolo. The point was that Piccolo had grown lax, letting the Duke slip away without asking or finding out the information he needed from the man before he left. Sure, it had not been the first time that the Duke had mysteriously stopped coming to their regular Tuesday and Thursday sparring—but it was the first time Piccolo had missed out on crucial pieces of information since he had expected nothing to happen when the Duke was out of town again.

Which was why he now found himself standing outside of the Regency for the third morning straight, waiting for some sign of the reason he had come to London in the first place. Piccolo had stood in the same spot, his eagle eyes trained on the doorway of the busy hotel, scanning the face of every person who passed in and out of the doors of the hotel, wondering if he had gotten the information wrong. It had been three days and he had not seen hide nor hair of his target…perhaps he would have to go back to his father, and admit—again—that he had lost the trail.

It was that, more than anything, that kept Piccolo rooted to his spot, his eyes the only part of him moving as he took everyone who came in and left the hotel. His father had not been pleased when Piccolo had come to him a week ago, admitting that the Duke had stopped coming to their fights a month before, and that the target was no longer in residence at the Vegetasei Mayfield residence. His father had only grabbed Piccolo, his anger making them almost on par strength-wise as he had slammed his son into the wall of one of their cheap rented rooms by the harbor—which they could only afford due to Piccolo working at the docks, his strength funding their time in London…as well as his father's increasingly alarming drinking habit.

Piccolo could tell his father had already drowned his sorrows in at least one bottle of gin that day, his hot liquor breath fanning over his son's face as he yelled at him, "Have you forgotten why we are here?! Why your mother and brother's are dead?! Why it is only us left in our tribe? Have you forgotten the pain caused—not only by him, but by the journey and what it has cost us?!"

Piccolo had been perfectly shamed, particularly as his loathing of his father had grown with his father's increased consumption of gin, the cheap liquor found freely in England—knowing that he should mortified of how he now thought of his father, the man who had given life to him. His father had let him go as suddenly as he grabbed him, before slumping in his bed in the corner, his anger giving way to sadness as he quietly said, "You are all I have left Piccolo. You and the need to give justice to the man who ruined us and our family!"

Piccolo felt guilty, knowing that his father would never had been an alcoholic if it had not been for _him_, if it had not been—for, well, everything _he_ had caused to go wrong in their family. Their tribe. Piccolo and his father had been forced to leave after his father had become the broken husk of a man he was now, his drinking problem becoming problematic long before they had come to England. It was the reason they had decided to take this revenge quest, Piccolo knowing that this was what his father needed to restore himself to his former glory.

"Yes, father. I made a vow to avenge you and what has happened to us long ago, and I will honor that vow. I will find him again, I promise."

His father had only nodded, his tears washing up as quickly as they had appeared, a grim look on his face, "Good. Do me proud, Green."

All it took was some probing, some questions asked about where the gentry lived when they were not in possession of residence—then some questions at the usual places rooms were rented to see if any rooms had been rented of late. He had staked a few other places out, but Piccolo knew it, in his bones, that this was the place. It was the most lavish, the most expensive, and if there was one thing his enemy was not lacking in, it was wealth. A thought that caused Piccolo to see red whenever he thought about the privilege the man had now.

As Piccolo stood, barely breathing, not blinking, he focused his attention on the hotel in front of him—and he felt a rush of triumph flush through him when that one face he had been waiting months to look at came through the front door. Piccolo could watch the man move, easily, as he was taller than most those around him, especially with his ridiculously spiky hair that made him even taller. Piccolo took note that he was not alone, a slight, dark haired younger woman with him, her hair in a bun on the top of her head. The pair of them only had eyes for each other, the woman chatting eagerly as the man listened, that goofy grin present on his face.

Piccolo felt his ire spike at that grin—he had learned to hate that stupid grin the man had always seemed to have had on his face as soon as Piccolo had first seen it, and it took everything he had in him not to cross the street separating them, and punching that smile off his face.

But Piccolo had waited too long, had been after this man for so long—he could wait a few more days. Tonight, he would go home and tell his father that he had found him, and the two would move their plan into its last stages. Revenge would be theirs.

Piccolo was never one to smile, but for the first time in a long time—he felt like grinning. Though that grin was almost wiped from his face as he crossed the street, a team of horses pulling a carriage almost hitting him.

As Piccolo jumped out of the way of the fast moving carriage, he took one look at the insignia, that of the Ducal house of Vegetasei, and felt the grin leave his face entirely. Had he been spotted? Was he seen?

But Piccolo's fears were unfounded—as the carriage drew past him, the only occupants were that of an elderly woman who looked as if she had never smiled before in her life, her severe face set into that of a permanent scowl. Piccolo took her in as she passed, noting that she reminded him of some sort of bird of prey (a vulture, perhaps?) before she was gone, and Piccolo continued onto the docks, eager to share his good news with his father.

* * *

><p>AN: The plot thickens! So what do you guys think? As I mentioned in the We're Just Saiyan podcast, we are definitely in the third and final act here guys…I actually didn't realize how close to the end we were until I wrote this chapter. So I have a request for those of you kind of enough to review—big or small, funny or serious—what issues do you need to see resolved before this story concludes? As usual, I love hearing from you guys, even just a quick note, so don't be afraid to reaching out to me.

Also, in celebration of it being the TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY of this story next week—I have a present for you guys. New chapter. Next Saturday morning. I'll see you then! Love to all, Okieday17 xxxxx


	35. Your (Saving) Grace

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…mwahahahahahahahhaha. Ahem, yes.

Warnings: Cussing and adult language

A/N: Lilpumpkingirl, you owned it, as usual. I am so lucky to have someone who can handle my crazy ass.

Thank you to everyone who has left a favorite, or review—you guys rock. Big love to all of my readers, because (drum roll, please…) today is the two year anniversary of when I first published this story! Seriously, that is amazing, and I can't believe you guys continue to put up with me and my totally inconsistent story updating. If I had known that my urge to write a Bulma and Vegeta in a regency romance fanfic would lead to meeting so many new amazing people, I would have started publishing it much sooner than I did. I love you all—last year I promised you cookies, this year if I could, I would bring you all pie. It's been a crazy journey, and I can't wait to finish it with you guys. Seriously, if you don't already know it, I love you.

Chapter Thirty-Four: Your (Saving) Grace

Bulma sat inside one of the spare offices that she was currently using as her base of operations at Saiyan Manor, pouring over her notes from the captain of the Saiyan Monarch who had been taking her ship out almost daily since their first test run about a month ago now. She had missed most of his correspondence when she was at Vegetasei, but now that she had been back at Saiyan Hall for the last two days, she had found a stack of it that had not been forwarded to her, and she had fallen on it, grateful for the distraction it provided from the rest of her life. Work, the one thing she could always count on when everything around her was going to…Well, shit.

But she was not going to think about that, instead focusing on just exactly how her pet project was coming along. The captain had written nothing but glowing letters about how much faster his ship was and how he was the envy of every other captain at the harbor. Not only that, but he had received letters of interest from all over the world, everyone wanting to become a part of history with Bulma's steam engine. Bulma was glad to see amidst the praise the captain had done the time trials she had expected, letting her know what changes needed to be made to the already near perfect steam engine. Thankfully there was nothing serious (no fires or capsizing! If that wasn't success…), but Bulma knew that that did not mean the ship was anywhere close to being finished. It was up to her to keep trying, keep experimenting—and then to put that baby on market once her patent was approved, adding to Capsule Corp and Vegetasei's already sterling reputation.

Bulma did feel extremely pleased at this, but, as she rested her hand on the small swell of her stomach, she could not help but stare into the ether, her mind wandering as it had seemed to do a lot of these past few days. It seemed to be the same thoughts that had been racing through her head ever since that night a few days ago where her and Vegeta had started to fight. She could tell her husband was hiding something, something large, from her—but she could not for the life of her figure it out. He evaded her questions about his brother, and he flat out refused to tell her just what in the hell was so important that he had been ready to leave Vegetasei in the middle of the night without telling her. Not only that, but when she tried to confront him about her fears, he had been cruel, crueler than he had ever been with her—almost as if he were trying to drive her away. Which, knowing his track record, she would not be surprised if that was exactly what he was trying to do. What it all came down to, then, was that Bulma needed answers, as she was growing tired of thinking over the same thoughts for almost three days straight with no new insights or revelations.

Bulma sighed, putting the captain's correspondence down, getting up and walking over to the window that faced over the garden. She let her mind wander, instead, to what her husband was doing at this exact moment. She did not even know if he was home, or indeed if he had been sleeping in their bedroom these last two nights, as she had not been in his bedchamber since they had come to London. Instead, she had been occupying the Duchesses' rooms, sleeping in there not to arouse suspicion, while she worked as far away from both his secret office and living quarters as she possibly could. Not because she was avoiding him…well, no—that was exactly what she was doing. She was avoiding him. Mainly because she was tired of fighting with him, and because she knew the more she pushed him for answers, the more he would push her away. Not for the first time did she wish the man she had married was not as secretive or stubborn as he was…though would she have fallen for the man if he were anyone else?

Not that that mattered if her sneaking suspicions about just what he was up to were correct….

Bulma heaved another heavy sigh, turning away from the window, looking at the clock on the mantle, realizing she would have to start getting ready for the dinner party Vegeta had picked as their only social event while in town was in a few hours. She wondered if Vegeta would remember, or if she would have to seek him out, secret office or no, reminding him of his duty to her to act as a husband at least while in public. He owed her that at the very least. In fact, he owed her way more than that, but with Vegeta she had learned to take what she could get. Though she had to admit it almost had her worried how quickly Vegeta had acquiesced to coming to a social event with her. That could not bode well for whatever the hell he was planning, that he would willingly submit himself to a social event to appease her.

As Bulma turned to the door, though, she was surprised to see a shadow through the space between the closed door and the floor, her confusion growing as she watched the shadow approach, turn away, approach, turn away, and approach then turn away a final time before her curiosity got the better of her. Bulma walked to the door, throwing it open, surprised to find the usually impeccably infallible Jeffries standing two feet from the door, his back to her, murmuring to himself. Bulma smirked as he straightened, looking over his shoulder and catching her eye, before he froze.

Looking quite like the fox that had been cornered by the hounds (causing Bulma to genuinely smile for the first time in ages), he cleared his throat, turning away before he turned back, facing her, his butler face on as he respectfully inclined his head. "Your Grace."

Bulma resisted the urge she had to curtsy towards him, instead giving a small nod of acknowledgement. "Jeffries. I trust you are well."

Jeffries nodded his head, emphatically, before he seemed to catch his snafu, straightening himself again. "Of course, your Grace."

Bulma stared at him, her eyebrows raised expectantly, waiting for him to tell her just what in the hell he was doing. He just continued to stare at her, the muscles in his throat working as he seemed to still be deciding whether or not to tell her whatever he had traveled up here to tell her. Bulma, deciding she did not have all day to stand there, waiting for Jeffries to decide whether or not he should tell her something stopped herself from asking just what in the hell he wanted (the American way), and was proud of herself for only giving an encouraging cough, prompting him to speak—which she thought was rather subdued and passive aggressive (aka the British way) of her.

Jeffries, seeming to catch the hint, gave a slight bow, again, "Your grace, a few days ago, you requested for me to tell you when the dowager was back in residence." He paused again, and Bulma only raised one eyebrow, a move she had seen Vegeta make a thousand times over with servants, peers, and family alike. That seemed to get Jeffries to start moving, and he barely stuttered as he said, "She is back, your Grace. Currently in the blue room by the front door."

Bulma felt an odd sense of expectation at hearing the dowager was in residence, and found a smile on her face as she walked past him, "Excellent. Please have tea service brought to the blue room. I need to speak to her."

Jeffries, seemingly unable to stop himself, only asked, "You _want_ to speak to her?" That took Bulma aback, stopping to look at him, shocked. But not as shocked as Jeffries was, his mouth dropping open for a moment, his hand covering it, before he gave a quick bow, "Tea service, at once, your Grace," fleeing from her before he said or did anything else that could be construed as less than the best behavior.

Bulma watched him retreat for a second, smiling as she shook her head. She did not blame Jeffries the unflappable for being…well, flapped, by this. Even Bulma was questioning whether or not she wanted to willingly submit herself to being in the same room as the dowager, especially as Vegeta's tales of her from his childhood came back to her—but no. Bulma did not only want to speak to her—she needed to.

Because the truth of the matter was that Bulma was afraid that what Vegeta was hiding from her, and the only person who would be willing to give her answers was the spiteful old hag she was now related to through family.

Bulma only heaved a heavy sigh, steeled her resolve, then set off to the blue room.

* * *

><p>"Come to gloat, have you?"<p>

Bulma had barely crossed the threshold to the blue room before these words were spat at her, the vitriol behind them hitting her like a physical force, stopping her right inside the room. She could hardly stop herself from responding in her most affronted voice, her natural reaction the fastest one. "Excuse _me_?"

The dowager was seated by the fresh tea service, her lips drawn in such a thin line they were barely visible, as she continued in the same hateful tone, "I asked if you had come to gloat? Bagging my grandson—you are quite proud of yourself aren't you?"

Bulma's jaw was almost touching the floor, never having been spoken to in such a way before. She thought she had properly steeled herself for the soulless black hole that was the dowager—but it seemed that the dowager had been polite with her in the beginning. Now that Bulma was family, apparently, she was to be spared no niceties at all. Still, Bulma had been trained to be a lady, and she was going to be a lady (dammit!) and put a smile on her face as she spoke to this vulture of an old crow. She could think of no better way to needle the old woman than to appear as if none of this was affecting her.

So Bulma ignored the dowager, letting silence be her only answer as she calmly walked to the tea tray. She served herself some, as well as the dowager though she did not dare hand the old woman hot liquid of any sort (Bulma had the feeling it was more likely to end up in Bulma's face than in the dowagers stomach), instead placing it in front of her, as she daintily sat across from the old bat. Bulma took her time, taking a tiny sip of her tea, before placing it down, the dowager's beady black eyes ice-cold chips that glinted as they maliciously stared at her. Bulma did not doubt that if she were not so obsessed with her family's reputation the dowager would have clubbed her to death with that cane she always carried with her, the rubies in the eyes of the ape at the top of her cane more human than the ones in the old bitches head.

Bulma forced herself to be at her most proper, and instead of answering the woman's hatred she only said, "I trust you are well. I am sorry we were not able to have you at the wedding."

The dowager's eyes narrowed, her lips thinning further as she curtly said, "How could anyone have been at such a wedding? As far as I know there was no proposal, no engagement—only your brother forcing my grandson to marry you."

Bulma had to stop herself from jumping across the table and grabbing the older woman's rather thin neck and throttling her, instead giving a polite smile. She might be polite on the outside, but that did not stop her from fantasizing about snapping the twig like neck between her extremely capable hands. She was sure it would not be a crime, especially considering just whose neck she would be snapping. Surely anyone who knew her could attest to the fact that the dowager was barely human. Bulma's voice carried none of these thoughts, though, as she only answered serenely, "There was no forcing to be done at the wedding. Your grandson offered his suite, I accepted, and since we were conveniently in Gretna Green, we decided to marry there instead of having to wait if we came back here."

The dowager snarled at her, her teeth bared, her voice barely a whisper, "Don't you dare lie to me, or think me stupid enough to fall for that. Your reputation would have been in tatters the second the news of your condition became apparent," her eyes flickering to Bulma's stomach, leaving no doubt about what she meant in 'condition,' before they caught her own, "And you convinced Kakarrot to help you into tricking Vegeta into marrying you."

There was so much misinformation in that sentence Bulma did not even know where to begin, though she wondered how the dowager knew about her pregnancy. Maybe Basil should recruit the dowager to His Majesty's secret service—though Bulma was not entirely sure that the dowager would not flip to whatever side offered her the most, seeing as the only allegiances she seemed to have were to herself. Still, she did seem to know every damn secret this house held—which reminded Bulma why she was here, speaking to the vicious old woman right now, forcing her to suppress her temper. Bulma instead gave a light chuckle, shaking her head, "Come now, even you must agree with me that there is no way of tricking or forcing Vegeta into doing anything he would not already want to do."

The silence that greeted Bulma was music to her ears, and she had to hide her triumphant smile behind another sip of her tea, before she finally got down to why she was here. "Now, your Grace, I must admit—"

Bulma was unable to finish her question as instead the dowager burst out, "I knew we should have left Kakarrot rotting in the new world, as I repeatedly told Vegeta in my letters—all of which were ignored." She stopped for a second, before she continued, shaking her head, "Tarble's death—it changed Vegeta, leading him to make more foolish decisions than he did before we had received news of Tarble's misfortune."

Well it appeared that Bulma would not even need to ask any questions, as the dowager was now freely offering information about precisely what Bulma was going to ask about. "Tarble's death? Wasn't that years ago?"

The dowager's eyes came to her own again, her lip curled, "Are you daft? Do you really think Vegeta would have gone to America and offered the viscouncy to an American if he did not have a choice in the matter? If his brother had not been foolish enough to follow in Vegeta's footsteps—and find himself dead because of it? I had told them both, warned both of them—Vegeta came back from the war for the better, ready to take up the reins as head of this family…but Tarble…."

There was a silence, and Bulma decided she needed to push the dowager in the direction she wanted this questioning to go. "So how long did you know of Goku?"

The dowager waved her hand, unreservedly giving up information, though the anger in her voice was enough to let Bulma know that this was coming from a place of hatred and not one of the older woman trying to be helpful. Apparently the dowager was pissed, and she wanted everyone to know just why she was pissed. Well, perhaps not everyone—but Bulma was certainly benefiting from this display. "Years. I had heard rumors that someone had survived the ship crash, of a baby being found by an American and being raised…but considering the circumstances in which Bardock and his family left…."

Bulma's interest was piqued in just what had driven Bardock to leave in the first place, but she stayed focused, instead digging deeper, "So Vegeta has known about Go…Kakarrot almost his whole life?"

The dowager pursed her lips, "Don't be stupid. It was only about seven or eight years ago…I'm not sure how, though when he wrote me to ask me if there was a chance the son of Bardock had survived, I was not particularly surprised. But I thought he let the matter drop, as I did not hear about it again…until Tarble's death on the warfront in Russia last year."

Bulma felt a sharp rise of alarm drive through her as she realized something, "Wait—so you're telling me that Tarble served in the army?"

The dowager sneered, shaking her head at Bulma's stupidity. "The army? Does this family seem like one who would serve in the lowest branch of the military? No, he truly followed in his brothers footsteps, right into the Navy, right into Russia, where I forbid him to go." The dowager sighed, shaking her head; "Tarble was always a better grandson than Vegeta ever was, submitting himself to both my wishes, as well as that of the wishes of his father. Vegeta was ever willful, needing to prove himself—which is why he had run off to the Navy, not that we knew any of this until he returned, a full Commodore…or Rear-Admiral," She frustratedly waved her hand again, "It did not matter. What did matter was that my son was sick, and it was Vegeta's time to become a man. I must say, he surprised even me with how fluidly he fit into the role of a Duke, not that I got to see much of it, with him shipping me as far away as he dared." The dowager turned away, her eyes looking into a past Bulma knew nothing of as she continued, "I do now know what he said or did with Tarble during this time, but the next thing I heard was that when Tarble was of age, he too had joined the Navy. But Tarble had never been strong like his older brother—I knew it was going to happen, I knew there was no way of Tarble returning from the warfront—and I was right."

Bulma would have felt more sorry for the dowager if she had heard an ounce of remorse, or loss, for losing Tarble, perhaps thinking that she had affection for the younger grandson—if not for the tone she spoke about him in. It was obvious that the dowager had wanted Tarble to replace Vegeta only because of his malleability—in the easy way she could perhaps control Tarble in ways that she could not control Vegeta. She held no sense of loss for the human being, just sadness for losing another way of gaining power. Still Bulma softly said, "So that is why Vegeta finally sought Goku out…he needed someone to take up the viscouncy."

The dowager's eyes were back on Bulma, glittering and dark, "He had _needed_ someone. Until he had sired a child on you. A child, for all intents and purposes, and not for any reason I can imagine—he decided to legitimize through marriage."

Bulma felt her own upper lip curl at this, though she forced herself to take another sip of tea before she calmly said, "Shame you instilled such a sense of honor in him then, isn't it? To right the wrongs he had made."

The dowager's nostrils flared, reminding Bulma why the older woman had always reminded her of an ape, though she was distracted from these thoughts when the dowager's voice pierced her thoughts, "Do not look to me for why he married you. He was the one who went against our plan, the one who decided to do the honorable thing with an American of all people."

Bulma stood, ready to leave, though she froze as she caught onto something the dowager said. She tried to force herself to leave, to not be sucked into this old bitches games, but found herself instead asking, "Plan? What plan?"

Bulma could have hit herself for falling into the dowager's ploy, especially as the older woman's beady black eyes glittered in satisfaction, a small smile on her face that put ice in Bulma's stomach as she said, "Oh Vegeta's honor hasn't prompted him into telling you exactly why you have a bastard in your stomach? You poor bitch…what, do you think he had feelings for you?"

Bulma said nothing, her mouth drawn closed, her every muscle still as the dowager let out a humorless laugh, "It was all part of a plan we had cooked up. You were in the way of Kakarrot making a suitable match, and so we devised a way to be rid of you—ruin your reputation, and force you to be shipped back to the states." The dowager's smile faded as she simply said, "I never expected him, of all people, to grow a conscious and marry you." The dowager looked Bulma square in the eyes as she said, "You better pray you have a son…because if you have a daughter, I will do everything in my power to ensure that Vegeta leaves you and annuls the marriage, leaving you and your child on the streets."

Bulma felt an odd sense of disappointment as she realized the truth behind the dowager's words, not the idle threat at the end, but in Vegeta's behavior with her (why else would he have pursued her, and impregnated her when it seemed to her that she represented all that he hated?), but she let none of this show. She instead affected a stiff upper lip, only giving a slight bow as she made her exit, thinking of no polite words with which to end her audience with the dowager.

Truth was, Bulma knew if she stayed in there a moment longer, she was liable to snap the dowagers neck, propriety be damned.

* * *

><p>Vegeta found himself completely entranced by Bulma as he sat across from her at the dinner party he had chosen for them to come to. Entranced because…well, he forgot how well she carried herself in public, and, truth be told, he had not seen much of her these past three days, and dammit, he had missed her and all that she had come to represent to him.<p>

Ever since the morning when she had stormed into his office, Vegeta had not seen Bulma. Not even a hint or whisper of her, no lingering lilac scent, no trail of blue hairs, nothing. Though that could be because he had been at the war offices more often than not, working endlessly with Basil to try and circumvent the plot that the Russians were soon to be hatching. All signs were pointing to an attack, and soon—and for the life of them, the offices could not exactly figure out who, what, where, when, or, perhaps most importantly, how.

The King was facing his own dissension among the ranks though, the advisors he had amongst him turning to in fighting that was throwing further confusion around the already thickening plot of what was going on. The Crown was crumbling, the most trusted of advisors turning on each other (and, Vegeta feared, the crown itself)—and all of this had to be hidden from the public. If they knew that their King could not trust those closest to him, what faith would they have in the monarchy? Not only that, but the King refused to leave his seat at Windsor, saying his friends and country needed him more than he needed himself, whatever in the hell that meant. Vegeta wished he could respect the decision the King was making, but how could he when it was putting his very life in danger?

Not only that, but Zhelonie was still taunting them with his presence. He was still working—but who the hell was he? Every time Vegeta was ready to dismiss him as nothing more than a myth or a legend, there would be another report, or more proof that he existed. Vegeta, when not in the war offices, strategizing with Basil about just what the plan of attack could be, was pounding the pavement with Nappa, the two of them questioning every and any informant they had ever had. But this man was a freaking ghost, or worse, a legend—everyone had heard of him and seemed to respect him, but none had a single clue just who in the hell he was.

Vegeta was beyond ready to start pulling his hair out.

Not that he was thinking about any of this, really, as he stared at Bulma, watching her charm her way through their seventeen-course dinner. He had picked this party because it had the smallest number of guests (only around a hundred) of any of the social events coming up in these next few days, and only the crème de la crème of society was there. Exactly the people Vegeta needed to have see him and his wife together, so that when he was gone, there could be no doubting these peoples words that Vegeta's new wife was a legitimate one, one to be respected, especially if she bore him a son.

He had been expecting a night of boring conversation, and Bulma to be as far away from him as possible, ignoring him much as she had been doing since they had returned to England—but no. It had been the opposite. She had been at his side, and acting just like a doting wife should. Not that there had been any sign of this before they had come into the public eye. In the carriage she had silently sat across from him, her eyes glued to the outside world, her chin resting on her fist, her elbow on the side of the carriage—her profile to Vegeta, refusing to meet his eyes, to speak to him, to answer his questions, or anything.

Not that Vegeta had been able to look away from her, his eyes glued to her. She wore a sapphire blue gown, one that made the paleness of her skin, the blueness of her eye and hair stand out—and most importantly, covered the small swell of their unborn child. Her hair was up, a few wisps trailing down her neck, much like he wanted to be doing with his lips, and there was a sense of general sadness about her that somehow made her look more delicate and beautiful all at the same time. Not that Vegeta was stupid enough to think that the delicateness of her beauty translated to anything but the strong woman he had come to marry, to produce a family with. Though he wished he could erase the sadness she was feeling, especially as he knew most of it was his fault.

It had been four days since they had last been intimate, since the last time he had seen that creamy white flesh covered by her gown, and he found himself hungering for her like a man who had been starved for weeks—no, months. Vegeta had thought that once he had made love to her, once he had had her, he would find himself growing bored of her, find himself no longer caring if they had sex or no. But no, it was the opposite. He had an addiction to all things Bulma—not just having sex with her, but also seeing her smile, making her laugh, hearing her voice, her dreams, her hopes—and he had cruelly been denied her for these past few days. Vegeta wished he was the sort of man who could know just what to say to charm her back to him…but Vegeta was never the sort to lie to a woman, and he knew anything but the truth with Bulma would be sure to get him slapped in the face. Though if that meant she would put her hands on him again….

Still, he had been surprised that the second they had arrived at the party that she had latched onto him, acting much like a newlywed wife should. Bulma did not expect Vegeta to act with her, knowing that to have him act overly affectionate would make the Ton suspicious of what the hell the two were up to—but she used his natural quietness and aloofness to her advantage. She spoke to others when Vegeta and her were approached, but she did not approach anyone else, whispering in Vegeta's ear when no one else was around. Vegeta wished that she was saying more into his ear than Newton's three laws, or the naming all of Jupiter's moons, or reciting the Fibonacci sequence—but no one else in the crowd knew that. They only watched the two of them, the men with envy in their eyes, the women with…well, envy and respect in their eyes.

It was interesting to be here, observing other's as they observed them. When Bulma had first made her debut she had been fawned over by the men, the women staring at her with mistrust and (well placed) jealousy. Now it seemed as the roles were reversed. The men were staring at her with mistrust, and jealousy, wondering how her flirtations with all of them had ended her with the least affectionate man in the Ton, while the woman fawned over her and her ability to capture the most eligible bachelor of the last seven seasons. Well, not all of the women—the proud mama sharks who had no doubt seen Vegeta as some sort of prize for their daughters to win—they were not happy to lose him to an American, and they were not afraid to make their disdain for the stranger amongst them known. As passively aggressively as possible of course.

But Bulma had ignored the digs, the little snide comments—she heard them all, and she graciously let them slide off of her as easily as water did. Vegeta was beyond impressed, if he did say so himself. Not that he let her know this. Though he kept her arm tucked in his all night, wishing that society would not frown on them if he tried to hold her just a little bit closer, a little bit more. She was his wife for Kami sakes—though even he knew that they were already spending more than the requisite number of hours at each other's side in public.

When they had been escorted to dinner Vegeta had found himself (being the highest ranking male in attendance) escorting the hostess of the whole party into dinner. He had been greatly pleased to see that Bulma's seat was not only right next to him, but as near the head of the table as society etiquette allowed. It appeared not every woman was stupid enough to snub the newest Duchess of the Ton, the head hostess seeking Bulma's attentions and favors as Vegeta was sure even the most jealous of mama sharks were sure to do when they realized just how much power the American had in the Ton.

As dinner had commence, Bulma had continued to surprise him as she had efficiently and effortlessly commanded the attention of the table, charming those who would probably prefer to hate her. Vegeta had watched, much as one watches a brilliant play, or a general plan an attack, trying to keep the smirk he would have loved to be wearing off of his face. She was ruthless in her civility, brilliant in her charms, and beautiful when she laughed—Kami, he could watch her all night.

For everyone who would have questioned why Vegeta would marry an untitled American woman, who would whisper behind their hands the real reason for their marriage—Bulma was proving them all wrong. She was proving herself to be as delightful and respectful as any English rose would be, her blood as blue as those born in England…though Vegeta was not stupid enough to think that this would stop the rumors, or that Bulma's time as his wife, or the dowager of Vegetasei (once he was no longer here), would be easy.

But tonight, watching her in public, how she held her own—it was putting him at ease to know that she did not need him to conquer the Ton. Bulma could do it without him, without his protection. And that, to be honest, was a load off of his mind he did not even know he carried….

Vegeta was content to let Bulma play the night out as she wanted—but he did not sit out completely. He had felt his sense of gratitude for Bulma, for making this night so smooth and effortless for him—well, it had to be repaid. And repay it he did. The only time they were apart (even though he knew all their time together was sure to be brought up in the gossip rags the next day) was when the men and women were forced to be separated after dinner. As much as Vegeta would have liked to forgo the usual port and cigars the men shared in the parlor, he could not, especially not with the rising Russian threat so close at hand. He needed to be all eyes and ears, looking for any sign of what just the looming threat could be, or if anyone there had inadvertently heard or seen anything.

Plus, Viridian was in attendance tonight, and though he had been perfectly charming as usual with all of the women—Vegeta had not missed the way his eyes had constantly flitted to Bulma, or the jealousy glinting in his eyes whenever Bulma pushed close to Vegeta to fake whisper something to him. Vegeta wanted to keep an eye on the bastard as it was—Viridian might have been staring at Bulma all night with affection in his eyes, but whenever he looked at Vegeta….

As the appropriate time had drawn for the men to rejoin the women where the after dinner tea was being served, Vegeta had taken his time walking, expecting Viridian to seek him out, to say something to the effect of having lost to the better man (of course Vegeta would not believe a word of it). It was what men did when they were jealous of another man—complimented him, and left veiled threats and potshots to the man. But Viridian did not track him down, instead walking out in one of the first groups of men to leave. Vegeta was content to wait until he was the last man left, knowing Bulma would be back at his side the instant he appeared in the group. He took his time getting back, entering the parlor quietly, observing the room. Bulma was currently not in attendance, but he did not let this worry him as he walked over to the curiosity cabinet in the room, near the back, content for her to reappear.

He was on the other side of the glass encased cabinet, his eyes drawn to that which had been taken (or stolen) from the natives of Papua New Guinea, when he heard a shrill voice he recognized as one of the most unpleasant women in the ton—not counting the one he was related to. She was an older woman, three of her daughter's out, all aging (and not well), the first two almost spinsters, and the third not far behind. Though she still retained a title, she was one of the rare divorcees of the Ton, her husband having left her for a much younger woman. A scandal to be sure—one that had made her bitter and angry—and loud. She was standing in a group of women, her mouth covered by her fan as she spoke, quite loudly, about Bulma and Vegeta.

Not that she said his or her names—but Vegeta was no fool, and the old hag was hardly being that obscure. "…I've had it on good authority from a kitchen maid of mine that speaks to a kitchen maid of theirs that the original pair to flee to Scotland was more…brother and sisterly than the pair who ended up marrying."

Another tittering old bat, "No! How could that be?! I thought with the way the pair of them were acting that it was a love match. I've heard that they loved each other too much to wait."

The original hen chuckled humorlessly, patting her friend on the head as if she were a simpleton, "Please, do you really believe one of his stature would lower himself to marrying an American if he had not gotten her with child? I hear it was not a love match, but one borne out of his honor—especially as she has none!"

Vegeta, unwilling to hear anymore slights against Bulma, especially after how wonderful she had been to him tonight, made his presence known by stepping around the cabinet, all eyes drawn to him, the one to the immediate right of the bitch who was talking face going white as she gaped at him like he was some sort of specter from a gothic novel. "Y…y…your Grace!"

Vegeta resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the woman's histrionics (or flair for dramatics), instead approaching the bitch in the middle. "You do me a great service, Lady Satan, to espouse such honor onto my character."

Lady Satan, the dumb toad that she was, actually preened at that, looking well pleased. While the rest of the women in the group took a step away from her and him, their mouths snapped shut, Lady Satan only spoke louder, sounding rather delighted with herself. "Well, of course I knew that you would never marry a woman such as that otherwise…."

Vegeta held up a hand, "You did not let me finish." Lady Satan looked offended, but she kept her chin up, though Vegeta was glad to see her lose all color in her face as Vegeta continued, "You do me a great honor by thinking me so full of honor—but the truth of the matter is you are wrong. If I had made the disastrous mistake of begetting a child on any of your feather brained daughters—I would hardly feel the need to do my 'honor' bound duty to them, let alone recognize them or any bastard children they produced, even if they were dying in a ditch I happened to be passing. I would not blink twice, nor would I pause, even if the child was the spitting image of me."

There was a general gasps of disapproval (and delight, the ton did love a good gossip), but Vegeta was not done, still feeling the sting of annoyance at these women, the need to defend his woman. Especially as she had been more than he could ask for, or truly deserved, tonight. "My lady wife on the other hand, would probably offer them every kindness, as she had proven herself to be the most honor bound lady I have ever had the privilege of meeting, her beauty paling in comparison to her brains or the strength she possesses." Vegeta took a step away, giving a slight bow to the cow of a woman he had been speaking to, "You need to be careful what you say and where. You might find out that I seem to hear and see everything—and if I ever hear you even think of besmirching my wife's name again…well, you might learn where I earned my nickname, the Dark Duke."

Another gasp, as Vegeta knew the rumors of where his nickname had come from ranged from him murdering women, to eating babies (or other horrible oddities he was sure), turning as he spoke, "If you'll excuse me. I need to find my lovely wife," before he turned, feeling rather proud of himself for not throttling the women as he made his way as far away from them as possible.

* * *

><p>Bulma stood on the other side of a large potted plant, having returned from the retirement room where she had sorely needed a few moments to herself, a large, unbidden smile on her face. After dinner, when the men and women had been forced to separate, Bulma had known that the full on nastiness of women and their gossip would come out—though she had been surprised to find as many women wanting to befriend her as those who wanted to defame her, and she had found a safe group to talk to as she awaited her husband.<p>

But Bulma was growing tired, tired of the acting she was doing, of the anger she carried around—of the general sense of unease she could not escape. While she could not escape her thoughts, she could escape from the tittering women around her for just a few moments, allowing her to drop the mask she often wore in public. She took just enough time to get a hold of herself and her emotions, before she had taken a deep breath, feeling much like she was swimming in shark infested waters.

When she had walked back into the tea parlors, she had been stopped behind the plant, the Lady Satan's words breaking through her well-crafted mask for society as if they were arrows piercing her armor. Her loud words hurt, not because there was any untruth in them, but because of the sheer delight the woman and her cohorts seemed to have in saying them. Bulma suddenly felt very tired, tired of the games, tired of hearing gossip and cruelness from people she did not know (nor did she deserve), and she had been ready to step out from her unintentional hiding spot to tell them off, when…when…

Well, when her knight in shining armor had ridden in, saving her.

Okay, maybe it was not that dramatic, or romantic—but Vegeta's words, his defense of her honor, of why he had chosen her—Bulma was more than a little choked up. She was not afraid to admit that the dowager's words earlier had gotten to her—but now, maybe…maybe Vegeta did have some sort of feelings for her other than lust. She could not have asked for a more glowing review, especially not from a man who usually handed out no reviews at all. For him to speak up for her, to defend her—and to slam that old cow (though she was a pussycat compared to the dowager…but the dowager was a dragon in human skin)—well, that meant more to Bulma than she could put into words. She had watched her husband retreat, and made a vow to thank him, tonight, in private.

As Bulma finally slipped from behind the potted plant, tears wiped from eyes, silly grin hidden, elated feelings held in her heart, she planned a route that would have her run into her husband in a rather circuitous route, when she found herself stopped by the last person she expected.

"Your Grace."

Bulma turned to find a bowing Viridian, her eyes going wide as she curtseyed to the handsome, charming man. "Viscount! I had not expected to see you here."

Viridian smiled, catching her hand to press a kiss to it, "Of course I am here. Once I heard you would be here, I had to see for myself that you were married to that…well, man, I suppose."

Bulma frowned at him, "Vegetasei? My husband you mean?"

Viridian affected a look of consternation, his hand going over his heart, "Oh to hear those words from your lips, and to not have them directed at me…they wound me more than you know."

Bulma resisted the urge to roll her eyes, though she did smile politely as Viridian winked at her. He was not done, continuing on, "I forced myself out in public to see for myself that the fair Miss Briefs was indeed married to that fool of a man, forcing me to find suite with another maiden who would be nowhere near as fair, nor as beautiful."

Bulma only gave him a polite smile, wondering how she had ever thought the man charming, wishing she could escape from him. She looked past his shoulder, seeing that Vegeta had caught her eye with his own, and the current frown gracing his face on seeing whom she was talking to. Bulma tried to step away politely, giving a slight curtsy, "If you excuse me then, Viridian, I do believe _my husband_ is looking for me."

Viridian stepped into her path, grabbing her recently dropped hand, pressing another kiss to it, as he bowed low, saying softly, "Please, call me by my first name. Now that you are married, I believe it is most proper."

Bulma smiled politely at him, wishing to get out of his way, especially with the way Vegeta's eyes were boring into the pair of them as he stormed up to them, and the hand Viridian had yet to release. "Of course, it would be my honor…." She hoped her silence would prompt him, though she knew Viridian was prone to being more verbose than anything.

Thankfully, Viridian picked up the hint and supplied his name with a ready smile, as he finally relinquished her hand, telling her his name as he walked away from her:

"Zarbon. Please call me Zarbon."

* * *

><p>AN: Okay, at this point, I know approximately zero of you did not see that coming (Zarbon is Viridian?)—but I liked pretending it was going to be a surprise. Humor me and tell me how flabbergasted you were by that, okay?

Love to all, and in honor of it being this stories TWO-YEAR ANNIVERSARY (that must always be written in caps, it is law)—next week, another chapter. Why? Because I love you all. Also, is it just me, or does next week's chapter smell sorta…lemon scented?


	36. A Simple Thank You Would Have Sufficed

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…sex. Sexy sex. Dirty sex. Just sex.

Warnings: Cussing, adult language and everyone's favorite—lemon!

A/N: You guys continue to kick ass. Seriously, I have the best readers and reviewers of all time. You are going to make finishing this story very hard for two reasons—one, pressure to live up to your guys' amazing reviews, and two, because I won't get to hear from you all the time!

Lilpumpkingirl, I love you. Your timing, as usual, is impeccable!

Chapter Thirty-Five: A Simple Thank You Would Have Sufficed

Vegeta found himself in the ducal bedroom for the first time since he had returned to London, staring at the bed he usually occupied as if it were a foreign object. The last two nights he had spent not really sleeping, instead catching naps in his secret office and training with Nappa in the secrecy of nighttime. Sleep, as it usually was before a mission, was the furthest thing from his mind. He was too keyed up. Nappa had known not to say anything odd about Vegeta's non sleeping pattern as he was one of the only people besides Basil who knew about the vow Vegeta had made for vengeance the day news of Tarble's (…murder? Execution?) death had reached him. It was Nappa, now, more so than ever, he depended upon to help him hone his body into that of a deadly weapon—and it was Nappa who would ensure that Vegeta's plans would still happen when Vegeta died.

But tonight he did not allow thoughts of that, instead venturing back to the room he was supposed to be sharing with his wife, hoping against hope that when he opened the door he would find her in his…their bedroom, crooking her finger to him in invitation. As he opened the door, though, he could not say he was that surprised to see that Bulma was not occupying the room. Yet, he did not stop and flee from it the second he saw it was empty. It had been another long day, and Vegeta was sick of hiding from his own wife, avoiding her—if she wanted to find him, to yell at him some more, to try and figure out his secrets—well that was her choice, and he was not going to be evading her any longer. Tonight he would sleep in his bed, and though it would feel odd without Bulma snuggled up to him…well, he had slept for the first thirty plus years of his life without her, he could handle a few more days.

He undressed himself, slowly contemplating the night he had had. Not long after his confrontation with the Lady Satan the night had drawn to its natural conclusion. As soon as they were gone from public eye, Bulma had retreated back into herself, and Vegeta had once again spent the carriage ride watching her, wishing he could know what to say to draw her out of her self. Well, he did know what he could say…he also just knew that he could tell none of it to her. Right now, if Bulma knew of his plans—she would screw up the outcome. Hell, her whole presence was screwing up his outcome—before her, he had never doubted the vow he had made, had never seen a reason not to follow through with it. But with her—she made him want to consider what would happen if he did not die, to find a way to complete his mission and still live. Which was dangerous. He sighed as he rubbed his eyes, wishing she had stayed in Vegetasei. Maybe then he could have ignored the effect she had on him better…_yeah, right_.

He had never thought that finding Kakarrot, and ensuring that he would have an heir to run Vegetasei once he finished his mission would lead to him finding…her. Or for her to have this effect on him, or for her to make him want to throw his vow right out the window—damn her.

Perhaps it was better that she was not here, that he had the bed to himself. He knew himself well enough to know that if Bulma had been here he would have been unable to hold himself off from taking her, having her, from perhaps telling her more than he knew he could. This way, at least, he could get a good night sleep.

_Yeah, keep telling yourself that sleep would totally make up for her not being here, buddy._

Ignoring his own thoughts, Vegeta finished stripping, putting on a pair of loose cotton bottoms. He padded back into his room from the closet, the plush carpet of his room caressing the soles of his feet as he walked to his bed. He found himself standing, staring at it, wondering whether or not he should get in, before he sighed, turning away. As this moment, sleep was simply not going to happen.

He was so amped up after the evening he had had—he wondered if maybe he should go rouse Nappa, the pair of them training until the early morning. Though he had told that old brute he could have the night off. Still, waking Nappa up, would not be the worst thing he had ever done—

But before he could act on that thought, he heard a soft knock on the door that connected to the shared sitting room between the Duke and Duchess' quarters, and he frowned at the knock in confusion. _Who in the devil…_a small smile worked its way to his lips as realization hit. Only one person would knock on that door, rather than the one that went to the main hall—he was not sure why, but Bulma was on the other side of that door. Without trying to get his hopes up too much, Vegeta found himself already smiling, thinking, _well this night is certainly looking up_.

Sure enough, as he crossed his floor opening the door, he was pleased to see Bulma standing there. The smile was wiped from his face when he saw she had something bundled in her arms, rather than being stark naked like he had momentarily imagined. He looked at her, head cocked in confusion, but she only asked him over the bundle, politely (of course), "May I come in?"

Vegeta did not even blink at the absurdity of his own wife asking for entrance in his room as he bowed, opening the door further, allowing her past as she walked to the chaise, putting her bundle down on it, smoothing it out before turning to face him again. He frowned when he saw she was wearing a thick, heavy robe that covered her from her neck to the tops of her feet, knowing she might as well be wearing a potato sack with how alluring she looked. Even so, with her blue hair down, loose around her shoulders, Vegeta was distracted. He missed seeing this Bulma these last few days, the one right before bed where she was scrubbed of all makeup, her hair down, her eyes blinking softly as sleep claimed her—he preferred her like this, to be honest. The only Bulma he had seen since they had started fighting was…well, harpy Bulma, or wearing a mask in public Bulma. Neither of which was a favorite with him. Still he was pathetic enough to admit that any side of Bulma, favorite or no, was better than no Bulma was.

Bulma cleared her throat, pointing to the bundle on the chaise, drawing his attention to it, making him realize it was a heap of red cloth…no wait, as he walked over, examining it from a closer angle, he realized it was a dress. Understanding dawned, Vegeta realizing it was not just any dress, but the very dress she had been wearing the night of her London debut. The very night he had first realized how much trouble she was to him—and the same night he had impregnated her.

As comprehension hit him, Vegeta reared back, looking at her, "Bulma, you don't need to do this—"

She raised a hand, silencing him effectively as she only said, "I know that. I know I don't need to. But I want to." She looked at the dress as she continued, her back to him as she motioned to the dress, as if he had not seen it. "I realized you never had the dress brought to Vegetasei to verify that you had taken my maidenhead, so I went to check tonight that the dress was where I had left it." She looked over to him, her blue eyes large and luminous in her face as she spoke, capturing his attention as if she were the only thing in the world. "The dress was still there. I just thought…I wanted to show you that I was no liar."

Bulma moved, walking closer to the dress, ruffling with it as she flipped layer upon layer back into itself, her voice so soft it hardly carried to him as she said, "I need you to know that I would never lie to you."

Vegeta, feeling that odd shifting squeeze in his chest again, found himself walking up to her, placing his hand on top of her, stilling her. "Bulma, I don't need to see this to know you weren't lying. I know you aren't a liar. You would not lie to me."

Her voice was curious as it lilted back to him, though she refused to meet his eyes. "You don't need to look? Even if it's right here in front of you?"

Vegeta knew she could not see him, but he still shook his head, simply saying, "No. Your words are enough, Bulma."

Bulma did not turn her head to look at him, instead, turning her hand so that their palms were touching, their fingers interlacing. When she spoke her voice was low, "I can't lie to you Vegeta. I just can't…you mean too much to me."

Vegeta felt the squeeze turn into a stabbing of pain at the sadness of her voice, knowing she would feel so much more pain than this before it was all over with. He wanted to soothe the sadness from her with words, but instead he used their laced hands to press against her lower abdomen, pushing the pair of them together, her back to his front. His mouth moved so that it was close to her ear, only saying softly, "I know Bulma. I know."

They stayed like for what was probably a few minutes, but felt more like hours. Vegeta closed his eyes as he rested his chin on her shoulder, their interlocked fingers against the swell of her stomach, his other hand on her thigh, reassuringly rubbing patterns in it, delighting in just being able to feel her again, to just see her again—to smell that damn lilac scent that would always remind him of her. When Bulma pulled away from him, Vegeta felt a deep sense of loss, but he let her go, glad that she let him have those (probably last) few moments of holding her.

She moved away from him, towards the door that led to the main hall, and he turned to watch her in silence, wishing he could find the words that would make this all better. That he was a more charming man, who was better with his words, who could say something—anything—to make her stay with him. He could find nothing, nothing in his head but….

"Stay."

His voice was low, and he hated himself for even weakening enough to speak, but he hated himself more a moment later as he softly added, "Please."

He was at a personal dilemma with that—on one hand, he wanted nothing more than to deny the true weakness this woman was for him to say all he wanted her was for her body…but that was a lie. He wanted her to stay with him tonight, even if they did nothing but hold each other until the sky went grey then blue. He wanted to wake up next to her—waking up next to her…well, it had been something he had never expected, but damn if he could go without it. He could not remember the last time he had used the word please, but right now, he wanted her to stay because she wanted to, not because he commanded her too.

He watched as she froze a few steps from the door, his heart in his throat as he waited for her to turn or to move towards the door, to seal his fate with her actions.

He was man enough to admit that his heart dropped into his stomach as Bulma took those final few steps towards his door, heading out of his room, and most likely, out of his life. Not that he could blame her, not after the way this week had gone—

But his thoughts were cut short when he heard the _click_ of the lock in the door, Bulma resting her hand on the door for just a second, before she turned back to him. Vegeta felt his heart rebound from his stomach back into his chest, where it started to thump as Bulma quirked her head, observing him, those blue eyes sharp, but sparkling with…delight?

Before long, her lips drew into a smile, her eyes glinting as her hands found the tie of her robe, pulling on the ends of the knot, the gown gaping open to reveal that…dear Kami, what was she wearing?

Vegeta's heart hammered faster, his blood rushing through his body, boiling in the pit of his stomach, fire licking through his body at her suggestive look, awakening his every nerve, tuning in to her, only her. As Bulma shrugged out of the robe, dropping it to a pool at her feet revealing just what she was wearing underneath the gown, Vegeta felt as if the fire had turned into a raging inferno as he saw just what she was wearing.

Namely, not a damn thing.

Vegeta's eyes darted over her body, drinking her in, unsure of where to rest as he realized just how much he had missed seeing her these past few days. Whatever other fears and doubts he had before she had come to the room were erased as the only thing he could think about was this magnificent woman in front of him. Kami, he wanted to be inside of her, he wanted her to be touching him, he wanted his lips to attach to her neck, and he wanted to mark her as his, only his. Her soft voice captured his attention, though he could barely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears, his whole body thrumming with one word over and over: _mine, mine, mine, mine._

Still, her words did get through, and Vegeta had to fight the urge he had to throw her over his shoulder as she simply said, "As you wish."

* * *

><p>Bulma needed to repay Vegeta for sticking up to her. She knew Vegeta well enough by now to know that he was a man where actions spoke way louder than words, and she knew that what he had done for her tonight…well, it was not a great declaration of affection for most, but to her it was.<p>

She had decided not to tell him earlier that she had seen him defend her, instead finding her own to show her affection and appreciation to him for what he had done. But what? It was not until they had gotten home, that she had remembered the red dress which held the proof that she had been a virgin, and she had decided it was time to show him that he really was her first and only.

She had not set out with the intention of seducing him…though she had not shut the door on that option completely by wearing nothing underneath her heavy night robe. It had felt particularly scandalous, moving about the manor as such, but when she had come to his room, she had tried to appear somber.

She told herself if Vegeta had made the first move on her, before she had said her piece, that she would leave. Still, when his hand had stilled hers, Bulma had found herself breathing hard and fast, imagining just how he was about to twirl her, dominating her with a kiss. She had to admit to herself walking away from that was going to be a lot harder than she imagined.

But her worry had been for naught. Vegeta had not twirled her, or dominated her in any way. Instead, he had just held her. Held on to her like she was a buoy in his life, and that he never wanted to let her go. Bulma had been shocked, but had melted as he had continued just to hold her, resting against her—their—hands over their unborn child. She was even more surprised when he had not put up a fight when she had been the one to move away. That had sealed the deal for her, and she knew she was going to sleep with her husband tonight.

Still, as she had walked to the door, and he had stopped her with those two words…Bulma had felt her heart burst in her chest from happiness. Not only had he asked her to stay…well, he had asked, rather than commanded. Totally at odds with his personality. Totally at odds with who he acted with like everyone else—this was Vegeta stripped bare, and she was the only person who got to see him like this. Kami, how could she help but fall for this man?

Bulma had thanked her lucky stars that she had hedged her bets by being naked under the robe after the _please_, knowing that Vegeta had not only earned being paid back for being so sweet earlier—but he needed to know she cared about him and missed him. He might not admit it, or hell, even know it, but he was fragile right now—and Bulma wanted to be there for him. As she had dropped her robe from her shoulders, seeing the look on his face, the widening of his eyes, the dropping of his jaw—Bulma could only revel in the power it brought her, especially as the molten heat in his eyes hit her like a punch to the stomach. She loved knowing she could affect her husband like this.

Bulma approached him, and before Vegeta could move, she had her hands fisted in his hair, her mouth fused to his, kissing him with all of the desire and longing she had been feeling these long three days, wanting to do nothing more than to absorb him into her very skin. It took Vegeta not a second to respond, his arms wrapping around her back, pulling her closer to him, so was not even space for air between them. It was natural at this point, and it felt greatly like coming home as Vegeta's lips had moved against her own. Bulma melted into him, her body curving into his hard planes, her leg coming up to his hip, her breasts pushing into the heat of his hard chest.

Vegeta's reaction was quick, his hand grabbing her leg and hitching it higher on his hip, his other one pressing into the flat of her back as he kissed her back, pouring all of his own desire and heat for her as he kissed he. She could already feel his erection, through the pants, grinding against her core and she let out a low guttural sound that vibrated through both of them. His lips refused to let her go, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, awakening Bulma's body as he took control of the kiss, their tongues meeting, sliding against each other. Her legs turned to jelly, her brain to mush—her lower abdomen throbbing to life as his thumb swept up and down her spine. Kami, it had only been three days but it might as well have been three months the way her body cried out for him and his touch.

As his teeth caught her bottom lip Bulma felt a stab of that heat head straight to her lower abdomen. Vegeta wasted no time as he picked her up off the ground just enough that he could walk with her, pressing her against the closest table, the back of her thigh biting into it as his lips recaptured her own. He sucked on her throbbing lower lip, as he let go of her sweeping his arm so that whatever was on the table crashed to the floor, before he grabbed her hips and lifted her so she could sit on the now bare table. Bulma moved her hands to his face, kissing him with all of the fervor she could not ignore, her mouth opening to his as his hands wrapped in her hair, tugging, moving her so she was open to him and that wicked tongue of his.

Bulma's leg's shifted open automatically as she sat, Vegeta fitting in the vee of her legs, pushing against her, the fabric of his pants pushing against her core, causing her to moan into his mouth again. Kami she was already beyond wet for him, the hot coil of heat in her lower stomach pushing and pulsing like a living creature, seeking a way to release from her body. Vegeta's hands moved from her hair to her thighs, pulling her against his already rock hard erection, rocking against her slowly, teasing her. Bulma pulled him tighter to her as he thrust against her wet heat, her body crying out for release, for more of his skin, for more of this—for him. Vegeta. She needed Vegeta. Her skin tingled, her blood rushed through her veins, and all she could think about was feeling and sensation.

Vegeta wasted no time in responding to her blatant invitation, his mouth moving over her face, leaving kisses everywhere he touched, his hand moving from her hip to one of her breasts. He palmed the heavy weight, drawing his thumb over her peak, her nipple hardening under his masterful touch, sending shivers through her, Bulma wishing he was already inside of her. His mouth moved lower, moving down the column of her neck, sucking and teasing her, so her legs pulled him closer to her, wanting him—no, needing him—inside of her. As he reached the pulse point at the bottom of her neck, he bit her flesh at the same time he pinched her nipple between his forefinger and thumb. Bulma shivered as she felt the sharp shooting of pain turn into delicious pleasure, and she let out another moan. "Kami, I have missed you and your magic touch."

Vegeta's voice was muffled as he moved further, his tongue trailing from her sternum to her breast the hand was not currently teasing, "Just my magic touch? What about my mouth?"

As if to demonstrate what she was forgetting, his tongue came out, tracing her nipple, before he drew her into his mouth. He loved her with his tongue, causing the already tight peak to tighten further, pain and pleasure mingling together as he alternated between light, soft licks, and hard sucks, her nails wreaking havoc on his back. As he took the tip of her crown between his teeth, nipping lightly, Bulma's head hit the wall as she arched her back, crowing in delight. The coil in her stomach was aching uncontrollably now, her whole body crying out for him as he only continued to torture him with his hands and his mouth.

Bulma's let another unholy groan out as he moved on to her other breast, his mouth tormenting her and delighting her in the same moment, her legs wrapping around him, trying to absorb into him. His hand left her breast, dipping between their bodies, his finger idly tracing patterns on her inner thigh, closer and further away from her wet heat, her hips thrusting forward, seeking him out. When he finally got close to her center, he only tested her with a quick dip of his finger, shocking her, before he brought it out, his eyes locked with hers as he took a step back, placing his finger in his mouth sucking on it, licking all of her moisture off of him. His voice was dark and husky as he said only one word: "Delicious."

Bulma could only moan, "Vegeta, please."

Her tone came out whimpering and pleading, but Vegeta only shook his head, moving closer and dropping to his knees, as he looked up to her, an eyebrow seductively quirked, "Not yet." He moved his mouth to her inner thigh, dropping a kiss on the sensitive flesh there, following it with another quick nip. His hands came to her hips, pulling her to the edge of the table, her legs moving so they were propped up on his shoulders as she leant against the wall, her hands scrambling to find purchase on anything to support herself as Vegeta's mouth quickly moved from her inner thigh to her lower lips, teasing her as he ran his tongue down her slit, lightly, not even probing the folds.

Her hands finally clutched onto the edge of the table she was on, her voice coming out in a frustrated whimper as she whined, "Vegeta…."

His breath fanned against her as he muttered, "Patience, Bulma, patience."

Bulma whined against that, the heel of one of her feet pushing into his back, her hands in his hair, vainly trying to bring him closer to her. He only chuckled at her futile attempts to speed things along, as he went back to dropping light kisses on any part of skin he could see, circling where she wanted his mouth the most, coming closer then retreating, coming closer then retreating, again and again in infuriating circles.

"Vegeta, I need you. Now!"

Her tone must have belied her desperation, because Vegeta's tongue finally shot out, finding her clit, striking her like lightning, causing the first of many shockwaves to shoot through her as that tight coil in her sparked, shooting white flames throughout her body. Her hands clenched the table further, Bulma uncaring if she was scratching the priceless wooden antique to dust as the flat of Vegeta's tongue soothed her, drawing against her slowly, oh so slowly, in long, broad strokes. Bulma let out another whimper, and Vegeta increased his pace, speeding up his licks, Bulma's hips moving in tandem with his tongue. He had her at a fever pitch, his speed fast and high, before he pulled back, opening her with his hand as he thrust his tongue into her heated core.

Bulma's head cracked against the wall (again) as she let out a groan, her legs clenching against him further, his head trapped between her legs, as she saw nothing but stars. Her body convulsed around his tongue, the stars going yellow and shooting out of the hemisphere as his traded his tongue for two fingers, his mouth going back to the throbbing bundle of nerves at her center, sucking her into his mouth as he teased her further, pushed her further, those wicked fingers of his curling, hitting her right there—right on her, _oh fuck_.

"Fuck Vegeta, fuck me!"

Apparently those were the magic words, and Vegeta got off of his knees, leaving the vee of her legs to lift her from the table, carrying her to the bed where he threw her down. Bulma bounced once, ungracefully landing on her stomach, feeling very much like jelly—though her body was crying out for more. Vegeta quickly shucked his pants, then followed her on the bed, his breath heating her back as he whispered, "As you wish." He covered her back with his body, moving her hair to one side, kissing her neck as he pulled her hips up with his hands to follow his body as he whispered, "Ass up for me, Bulma."

Bulma followed his instructions, lifting her hips for him, Vegeta moving so his weight was off of her. Bulma looked over her shoulder as she saw Vegeta sit so he was in the middle of the bed, angling her entrance so he could thrust up into her. He caught her eyes, and he only put his tip at her entrance, his eyebrow cocked again as he teased her, "Is this enough for the Duchess?"

Bulma shook her head frantically, trying to find the words, but only coming up with, "More."

Vegeta smirked, his fingers biting into the flesh of her hips as he thrust up as he simultaneously pulled her onto him completely. It was like being struck by lightning, or by the experiments with electrical currents that she had worked with during her studies—her whole body exploded in a white blaze, the coil in her abdomen thrumming, calling out to be satisfied. Bulma's hands clawed at the bedspread as she moaned out his name, "Vegeta…."

It was a plea, and one he did not ignore, as he gathered her up, so she was sitting on him, facing away, her thighs spread along either side of his as he thrust up into her, again. "How about that?"

She only moaned in response as her hips ground back into his, meeting his as they pushed up. Bulma's arms came up, burying themselves in his thick hair. Vegeta's arm snaked out under her breasts to give her more leverage, the other coming to her breast, squeezing her, as his lips attached to the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking hard. Vegeta set a fast rhythm, her back to his front, the pair of them moving as one as her moans mixed with his grunts. Bulma felt herself getting close, again, her body starting to throb—and Vegeta must have known, because he stopped all motion, his hands stilling her, as he whispered into her, "I want you to ride me."

Bulma only nodded, wanting, no needing Vegeta to keep doing exactly what he had been doing, knowing that if he had commanded her to kill the queen in that moment she would have done so.

He kissed her neck one last time, before he lifted her off him, moving so that he was laying down, his head on the pillows, his eyes lidded as he watched her. Bulma wasted no time in moving with him, getting on her knees as she straddled him, finding his erection, and placing it at her tip as she thrust down onto him, meeting his hips as they thrust up, both of them groaning as he filled her. Vegeta's hands were on her hips before she was even all the way on him, finding them, grabbing her, and leading as she began to piston up and down off of him. Bulma's hands were on his chest, her nails leaving red marks as she scratched and clawed at his flesh as he fulfilled her, stretching her deliciously, letting Bulma know that she was going to be lusciously sore in the morning.

"Bulma."

Bulma's eyes popped open, finding Vegeta's eyes lidded and dark as he watched her, licking his lips as he coarsely said, "Touch your breasts."

Bulma's eyes went wide, but seeing the fire in his eyes—how could she say no?

She sat up straight, her hips moving in a new circular pattern, even as she continued to pound into Vegeta, her hands moving up his chest, past her own hips before they reached her breasts. She cupped both of them in her hands, feeling her own heavy weight, before she squeezed them, just like he always did.

Bulma looked at him as she cupped herself, feeling extremely wanton as his eyes darkened, his breathing coming more labored. "Is this what you want, Duke?"

Vegeta nodded, before whispering, even as he strained his hips up, his hands still on her own, "Your nipples. Pinch your nipples."

Bulma felt a shot of pleasure simply from the way Vegeta spoke to her, and her pleasure increased as she kept her eyes on his as she followed his orders, her hands moving to her nipples, pinching them, lightly.

His voice was hot, shooting through her like lightning as he only coarsely said, "Harder."

Bulma's eyes widened, but she smirked as she followed his orders, pinching harder, causing both of them to cry out in pleasure as Bulma pounded back on to him harder than before, fusing the two of them together even more. Kami, she thought she had already been wet—it was nothing to the sopping heat she now felt between the two of them. She loved when Vegeta spoke to her like this in the bedroom, when he took control.

Without waiting his instructions, Bulma drew two of her fingers into her mouth, sucking on them, before she trailed them down her body to her red nipples, running her wet fingers along them, causing Vegeta to groan as his hips shot off the bed. Bulma's eyes did not leave his own, instead holding them as she brought one of her breasts to her mouth, her own tongue laving her tip, much like he had been doing earlier, her thighs squeeze against him. His voice was coarse, "Fuck Bulma, you're killing me."

Bulma only smirked as she let her breast go, "Good."

He let out another moan as he continued to thrust into her before his voice washed over her again, hoarse as he gritted out, "Touch… your…clit… Bulma. Do it for me."

Bulma's eyes widened at that suggestion, but she smirked, her one hand still cupping her breast as her other one reached to the thatch of blue hair that covered her, her fingers probing, finding the engorged clit there. Vegeta let out another curse, and before long his hand joined her own, covering her own fingers, helping her work them, moving them in circles, fast, as he continued to thrust into her.

It was all she needed as she exploded, shattering into a tiny thousand pieces as she squeezed her own breast in one hand, her clit in the other, her thighs coming into Vegeta's side as she moaned out his name in one long call. The coil that had been winding up inside of her, expanded, exploding through her body as that white heat blasted through her skin, her bones, her every molecule, the pain and pleasure sweeping together, causing her to lose sight of everything but this moment.

Vegeta helped her ride out her climax, pushing into her whenever she felt it receding, his own hands biting into her hips, helping her push it for as long as she could, riding the wave and aftershocks of pleasure, before she simply collapsed on top of him, her mouth finding his own, her body going completely limp.

Vegeta kissed her back, slowly at first, using his hands to touch and squeeze her body, teasing her back to life, before he quickly rolled them, landing on top of her, her legs drawn up around him, cradling his still hard erection within her. He was content to kiss her for just a few moments, cradled in her body, Bulma's oversensitive body using the time to recuperate, already throbbing for more from him, even as half of her called out for rest. But Vegeta was not satiated, and until he was, Bulma would not be content.

Bulma pulled away from Vegeta's slow kisses, her blue eyes catching his onyx ones as she only said, "More. Please, more."

Vegeta smirked, shaking his head as his hand smoothed through her hair, catching a lock between two fingers, twirling it as he chuckled darkly. "You temptress you. Are you never satisfied?"

Bulma blushed, but kept smiling, shaking her head. "As long as I'm with you…I'll always want more Vegeta."

He laughed, kissing her quickly before he muttered against her lips, "If I didn't know what you meant, I could say that that was a very unflattering assessment of my lovemaking."

Bulma playfully smacked him, but her tone was serious as she told him, "Never, Vegeta. Not with you, not like this."

Vegeta froze then, his eyes searching for hers, but Bulma only smiled at him, squeezing him with her thighs. Vegeta took a second, but then the serious look Bulma recognized was back on his face, and she knew he was back in charge. He only got this look on his face when he was in the middle of a mission—or when he got serious about his own pleasure. Bulma considered herself blessed, wondering how many women had husbands that put their pleasure before their own? Especially someone like Vegeta who made sure she came a few times before he did….

Vegeta withdrew from her, distracting her from her thoughts as he grabbed her ankles, placing them on his shoulders, before he positioned himself at her entrance again, thrusting into her, stretching her, filling her, making her see heaven.

Bulma's head was thrown back in ecstasy, Vegeta hitting her hard and deep as he began a slow pace that built back up to the frenetic one they had set earlier, Vegeta moving onto his knees, her hips following him, thrusting into her, further, deeper with a single minded intensity that drove Bulma insane. Every time she got close to another orgasm, Vegeta would slow the pace, settling her back down, before he would speed up again, bringing her closer and closer to yet another peak.

He continued this torturous cycle before Bulma finally pleaded, "Vegeta, please…let me cum…."

Vegeta only smirked, kissing her ankle, before his hands moved back to her hips, and he really thrust into her, pounding her into the bed. Bulma hardly noticed, her body tightening in that delicious way only he could make happen, before the ball of friction at her center burst out around her, this time milking Vegeta's own release from him as he thrust into her, hard, a few last times. Bulma only felt pure pleasure, her eyes rolling back into her head, her mouth open, uncaring of how loud she called and cried for him, only wanting to stay in this moment forever.

Before long, Vegeta and Bulma's bodies both stilled, and Vegeta let her go, collapsing next to her on his front, Bulma chuckling as he lay there, without moving, appearing very much like a dead man. Well whatever effect Vegeta had on her, she was glad to know she could do the same for him. She only brushed her hand through his hair, and down his back, giving his butt a playful smack. "Great job, your Grace."

Vegeta's head heavily lifted, moving so that he was looking at her, Bulma turning on her side so her leg was over his back, cradling herself against him, a lazy smile on her face. One of Vegeta's arm's shot out, pulling her closer to him, his nose nuzzling against her own. Bulma let out a chuckle, and he raised an eyebrow in question, but Bulma only shook her head, her eyes locked onto his own as she said those four words, those same four words she had said the last time they had made love, the very words that had started the argument that had only gotten worse when Basil's letter had arrived: "I love you, Vegeta."

Vegeta's eyes got wide, again, his mouth opening, but Bulma cut him off, placing her finger over his mouth, "And don't try and argue me on this, this time Vegeta. These are my feelings, my emotions, and how I feel about you—I'm not asking you to say them if you don't mean them."

He went to say something else, his mouth moving against her finger, his black eyes sparkling, "Bulma, I want—"

She cut him off, shaking her head, "No, Vegeta. I need to say this to you. I need you to be aware of how I feel about you—I don't know what's going on with Basil, or Russia, or the Navy…or even what happened with Tarble…but I do know this. I love you." Bulma looked slightly past him as she recalled how he had first come into her life, and she smiled wryly at how things had turned out. "I never expected it with you—and to be honest I never wanted it with you when I first met you. But now…I can't imagine my life without you. You are more stubborn than I am, you make curmudgeonly old men seem downright sunny with your disposition—and you have a way of making everyone around you scared of you."

His eyebrows shot up at that, but Bulma only continued, "But you are one of the only people in the world who accepts me, Bulma, for who I really am. You understand me, and you listen to me. You make me smile, and yes, no one else can make me moan and groan like you can, and no one ever will."

Vegeta smirked at that, but Bulma ignored him, continuing, "But more than that you are what any woman could want in a husband. You don't try and suppress my need to be a scientist, you don't dare pull any old school stodgy thinking about how I should act and be. You are caring, no matter what you think, and I know you would do anything for those you care about. I love the way that you think, the very way that you are—I love everything about you. You know the real me…and I know the real you. And I love you, Vegeta. You are a great husband, and soon…you will be a great father."

Vegeta's eyebrows shot down at that, but before he could speak, Bulma pressed her lips to his, pulling back only to whisper, "You need to understand this Vegeta. I say these words not to pressure you into saying them, or to make you do something for me…I just want you to remember them, even if I'm not at your side. No matter what, you have at least one person out there in the world that loves you…soon to be two. And we both need you Vegeta, remember that."

Bulma smiled at him, before turning over, feeling tears welling in her eyes, hastily wiping them away as she closed her eyes, feeling worn out and exhilarated, and exhausted but alive at getting those words out. She wanted to hear them back from Vegeta…but she knew she needed to let him do it in his own time. Hell, he was never going to be mister chatty about his emotions, and that was part of the reason Bulma loved him—but it would be nice, one day, to know he felt the same. Bulma said none of this, though, only going with, "Now let me sleep. I'm exhausted."

Vegeta was still for a long moment, before he moved, going on his side so that he was spooning her, his arm drawing them closer together, as he nuzzled her neck, pressing a kiss to her neck. "Goodnight Bulma."

It was not a declaration of love, but it was more than enough for Bulma right then, and she only smiled as she snuggled back into him, "Goodnight Vegeta."

* * *

><p>Vegeta was up early, pulling clothes on, ready for a day at the War Offices as Bulma lay in bed, watching him from where she was propped up on the pillows, her eyes following his movements, as the two of them spoke. They did not reference any of the heavy issues between them, and it almost felt like it had been like at Vegetasei, before life had exploded around them, dragging them back into the real world. They spoke of inconsequential things, and Bulma speculated on their unborn child, her and Vegeta both finding real delight in speaking about how his (or her) life would turn out.<p>

"So what should little Thaddeus do for a living?"

Vegeta was fixing his cravat in the mirror, pursing his lips as he heard Bulma's name choice for their child. This was nothing new—she loved the fact that she got to name their child, and she loved to do nothing more than to torture him with the most ridiculous names she could think of. Or at least, Vegeta hoped that she teased him with these names. If she gave birth to a son and named it Thaddeus…well, if he were still around, then he would definitely have something to say about that.

"What do you mean do for a living? He will be a Viscount as soon as he is born, and he will one day inherit the title of Duke from me."

Bulma pursed her lips, moving to sit, pulling her knees up so she could rest her chin on them, "Yes, but you are a super secret spy, and I'm a world famous inventor. Whose footsteps do you think Erminitrude will follow in?"

Vegeta smirked, as he finished tightening the cravat just like he liked it, turning to look at her, "If he," seeing her eyebrow quirk, he added, "or she is smart, like you are—they shall have both. They shall begin training at a young age, like I did," Bulma opened her mouth, presumably to object, but Vegeta kept talking, "And they'll be smart like their mother, as she will be their first teacher. I have no doubt my dear, you will have them in your lab as soon as they are able to walk and talk." Bulma gave him a guilty smile at that, and Vegeta rolled his eyes.

Vegeta moved back into his closet, bringing out a coat to pull on, as well as his Hessian's. Bulma watched him, moving so she was laying belly flat on the bed, the delicious curve of her ass tempting him more than she was aware as she lazily kicked her calves back and forward above her, "I suppose Gareth can train at a young age…which language should he learn first?"

Vegeta pursed his lips as he finished pulling on one boot, going for the next, "English."

Bulma rolled her eyes, resting her chin on her hands as she stared at him, "Besides English I mean." She sighed when he did not answer, supplying, "My mother brought in a Spanish nursery maid when I was very young."

Vegeta finished tugging on his second boot, looking at her as he stood tall, "It is very en vogue around these parts to have a maid from France come, teaching your child French, and Latin, of course."

Bulma nodded in all seriousness, "Of course." She sat up, and Vegeta's body thrummed to life in seeing her naked form. But she only stood off of the bed, going for her discarded robe from the night before as she pulled it on. She then moved to Vegeta, grabbing his coat as she said, "We had a French governess when I was younger, too."

She held out Vegeta's jacket for him, and he turned, slipping one arm in, then the other, as she continued, "Though of course, she was not from France. Just Quebec, though we were assured she was a first generation immigr—Vegeta."

Vegeta was no longer listening, his arms frozen in a comical position of shrugging his jacket on as Bulma's words struck a chord inside of him. French—Quebec. Where…where had he just recently heard that? Why was it setting off so many bells inside of him?

_I come from an Indian tribe in the Province of Quebec._

_I come from an Indian tribe in the Province of Quebec._

_I come from an Indian tribe in the Province of Quebec._

Vegeta suddenly turned, grasping Bulma's arms as he looked into her eyes, "Bulma—Quebec. It is a French province?"

Bulma looked at Vegeta, her eyes searching his face, "What?"

Vegeta resisted the urge to shake her, his mind going wild as he said, "Bulma—Quebec. French?"

Bulma nodded, "Of course. They're under British control, I believe, but they've always been extremely proud about their French heritage…there's talk of lower Canada succeeding and becoming… Vegeta, what is it? What's wrong?"

Vegeta did not let Bulma go, holding her tighter as he said, his heart pounding alarmingly as adrenaline began to course through his veins, "Bulma, I need you to listen to me, and very carefully. I need you to go get dressed, and then I need for you to wait for either Kakarrot or I in the secret office. Do not open the door to anyone else, and for the love of Kami, do not leave the house."

"Vegeta, you're scaring me, what's going on?"

Vegeta held her closer, looking into her eyes, "Promise me Bulma! Promise me you won't leave the secret office for any reason other than Kakarrot or I!"

Bulma must have heard the desperation in his voice, or seen it in his eyes, because she only nodded, "Of course. But Vegeta, tell me what is going on."

Vegeta let her go at this point, turning towards the door, "I must go send a note to Kakarrot, but before I leave I want to see you go into the secret office. Do I make myself clear?"

Bulma was already moving back towards the Duchesses' quarters to dress, but she nodded stopping to look at him, "Yes. But Vegeta…what is it? You're scaring me."

Vegeta stopped for a moment, wishing he could say something to put her mind at ease—but that had never been his strong point, and so he only walked back up to her, grabbing her to him in a kiss, pulling back, lying to her as he said, "I will explain everything when I return. I promise."

* * *

><p>"Zarbon…so good of you to finally join us."<p>

Zarbon took a long look around the hideout Frieza had been using on the outskirts of London, looking around a table that should have held about twenty of his closest advisors that last time Zarbon had been here when Frieza had first arrived. Now it had only about nine.

Zarbon was more shocked it was that high, considering how long Frieza had been waiting in the shadows, biding his time as he let his minions do his dirty work for him. The man was not known for his restraint. Zarbon caught the eye of Dodoria, who was his complete opposite physically, but shared the honor of being Frieza's favorite with himself. Truth be told, he held no affection for the balding, fat pink blob the man was—he had plans to kill him the second Frieza showed he no longer cared about him. But today was not that day, so he only nodded at the man, forcing the image of crushing the man's fat pink head between his hands out as Dodoria nodded back.

Zarbon smiled prettily as he turned to face the man he had been working for for most of his life. He could not lie—when it came to the Tsesarevich, he held a real admiration, mingled with fear. He wished he could work alone, but if he wanted power, real power (which he did), he needed to continue to kiss the ass of the Russian prince. No matter how out of his fucking mind he was.

Zarbon's face showed none of these thoughts though, as he bowed low. "Tsesarevich. So good of you to see me."

Frieza drew up in his chair, smiling in that deranged way of his with his ruby red lips, as his eyes sparkled maliciously, excitement thrumming in his voice, "I do hope you bring me good news Zarbon."

Zarbon only smirked, knowing that his next three words would bring a real smile to his Tsesarevich's face:

"It is time."

* * *

><p>AN: Duh, duh dunnnnnnnn! I know, another shocker, Zarbon is Zhelonie? What?! Ha ha. Most of you have known for a time—so thank you for all of your 'shocked' reviews last week!

Also, Bulma and Vegeta gooey goodness—well, and a lemon as well. Damn, I really need to question how much sex can a story have before it is simply considered smut…hmm, we ask the important questions here, don't we?

Also also, I finally know how to respond to reviews on this site (check who's with the times…this chick). So don't be surprised if I reply to something you wrote two years ago…not all of them, I promise, but just when you guys were extra thoughtful. Love to all!


	37. I've Got the World on a String

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ, it probably would be as untimely as this story is. The cell saga would have lasted like six years or something….

Warnings: Cussing, you know how I love to cuss.

A/N: Rather than repeat the word sorry at least a thousand times (I considered), let me start by being honest and sincere. There has not been a day that has not gone by where I have not thought about writing this story, or finishing it, or how frustrating it must be to those of you who have been waiting for an update. Life has thrown me a few curveballs, and while I've been able to survive, this story has suffered because of those curveballs. So from the bottom of my heart, I am so sorry that it has taken me this long to get this next chapter up. I think it was catgirl26 once said she felt like she was in a reverse time suck, where a year had gone by but it had felt like a week. I totally get that now. But not to fear, I never forgot you or this story. This story has an ending, and we are close guys, so close. So thank you for everyone who has been asking if I am okay, and I hope you realize that this is for you.

Lilpumpkingirl, this chapter really came alive because of you. Total co-writing credit goes to you on this one. You made it the awesome chapter everyone is about to read.

As a refresher, last time on DBZ, Bulma and Vegeta returned to London, reconciled, Bulma let slip she loved Vegeta, though he didn't reciprocate. The next morning, when talking about her French Canadian nanny, Vegeta had an a-ha moment about Zhelonie, and ran out after writing a note to Goku, and making Bulma hide…

Chapter Thirty-Six: I've Got the World on a String

Bob Wicket, a man who had never considered himself that extraordinary, or lucky, finally felt that his fortune was changing. Besides being a bow street runner, he had led an extremely average life, with a normal upbringing, a standard business, a typical wife, and three incredibly common children. He had been one step up from a chimney sweep, and at least they got to dance upon the rooftops of London. Not literally, but, well that was beside the point. As was his normal life—because that was all behind him now.

In front of him sat…well, simply put: The World.

In these past few months following his trip back from America, Wicket's life had changed. He now owned his own home. His children now were at either respectable boarding or finishing schools, gaining an education (and opportunities) that Wicket never had. And his wife now sat at home, growing rather plump, as the kitchen maid and two other servants—he could now afford—did all of the housework and cleaning. Not only that, but business was beyond booming! He was the most sought after bow street runner London had ever seen. He was successful beyond anything he had ever dreamed, and it all came down to one thing….

The Duke of Vegetasei.

All Wicket had to do was drop the fact that he had worked for the Duke of Vegetasei to a prospective client and boom, he would have a new client. That was it. Clients would fork over money and whatever job they had come to him for—faster than Wicket could get out the Duke's full title.

If he had ever known how much of a difference the Duke would have made in his life, Wicket would never have been so hesitant to take that case from the demon man. Hell, he would have probably gone after the Duke himself, banging on his door for the assignment, begging to be the one the Duke worked with, the one the Duke sent to America.

There was one thing…by using the Duke's name, well; Wicket knew he was playing with fire. But it had been over six months since the Duke had last visited him. Six months since Wicket had come off of the boat from America, had presented his findings to the Duke in that stuffy office, and run out, clutching his cross like the Duke was more than another human being. Wicket laughed as he thought of how scared he had been. He knew (now, that was) that the Duke was nothing but a living, breathing man—not a demon, or something else equally sinister or super human.

It had been months (months!) since word had spread that Wicket had worked for 'the Dark Duke,' and Wicket had seen neither hide nor hair of him. Not that Wicket had not originally heeded the man's warnings. In fact, it was not even Wicket who had leaked the word that he had worked with the Duke to the entire ton. Well not at first, that is. He had only told one person—one other bow street runner, and really that had been the ale talking more than Wicket. An old chum of his and him had started swapping horror stories and Wicket had been reticent at first to even talk about it, but quite a few pints in and he was spilling the whole story—the Duke's name coming from his lips when he admitted he had been scared of only one customer, one assignment. As soon as the words had passed his lips, Wicket had been scared witless and left the bar to scramble home and say his last goodbyes.

He was sure, at any moment, the Duke was going to sweep out of the darkness and murder him with his bare hands. Or suck Wicket's soul from his very body. Or, or, or….Well, any long list of horror's that Wicket could imagine. And, being a man with an overactive imagination, he could imagine some truly horrible ways for the Duke to pay him back. But there was nothing to do but wait, in his bed, under his covers . So he waited. For an hour. Then for two hours. Then for another few hours…and finally, the next morning, when he had woken up from a sleep he had not realized he had fallen into, he realized there was nothing.

So Wicket had gotten out of bed, and decided to go about living his life as if he were not waiting for the proverbial (or maybe literal…) axe to drop, and wait for his impending doom like a man. So he had gone about his normal life, and he waited. But there was nothing. No, not a peep from the Duke. Not even a visit from his bald goon to tell Wicket to stop the talk of Wicket working for the Duke. Because the tales, well, they spread. From one person they moved to the next as if they were the plague themselves, and Wicket was powerless to stop them.

But…

But the more time passed without any recriminations (or even a hint that the Duke remembered his existence) Wicket found his fear abating. With each passing week, the constantly looking over his shoulder, the wearing of his wife's cross, the denying any connection with the Duke—well, these all faded. At first, Wicket had refused to play into the gossip, or to acknowledge the rumors. Just trying to downplay it and shush them—but over time, his reaction had evolved. Specifically it had changed the day another member of the gentry had come to him, and offered him tons and tons of cash to do his bidding.

That had been the day, it had been like a floodgate had broken. Or more like a crack had appeared in a dam. At first Wicket would only answer affirmatively that he had worked for the Duke, never using the name first, careful, whenever he was asked. But then, like a trickle growing into a stream, and time drew on with no recriminations from the Duke, Wicket found himself volunteering the information before the upper crust could ask. That stream eventually became a giant wave, and Wicket found himself advertising the fact that he had worked for the Duke of Vegetasei. Turned out the man had a lot of pull with the Ton. Pull that Wicket was using to get paid beyond his wildest dreams.

His dear wife, bless her soul, though she enjoyed the bounties of Wicket's bragging, found herself cautioning him almost every day. "I don't care if 'e 'asn't appeared yet. 'E will. 'E will. Evil always do."

Wicket had tried to take her concerns seriously, but more and more he found himself chuckling at his Mary, bless her. Shaking her head as she gripped the cross she wore, the Duke's name always hushed as if saying it out loud would conjure him. Wicket found himself becoming more and more patronizing as he tried to comfort her. Not that he could help himself. She was just so adorable with her concerns.

Then the day had come. The day he had sat at his favorite inn, and enjoyed his favorite lunch, wondering if he should hire yet another runner to work for him, when he heard his name. "Bob Wicket?"

Wicket had smiled, anticipating another customer from the posh tones of the man who was behind him, standing and turning, ready to fleece the man for every pound he could get off of him. Hey, if the rich were simply going to use him because he had worked for one man, he was going to make sure he got as much commerce out of them as possible. "Bob Wicket, former employee of the Duke of Veg—."

The words died on his lip as he stood to face the man, mainly due to the fact that Wicket had felt like he had been punched in the gut as he recognized the large, looming, bald brute in front of him. The gleam in the giant's eyes caused the words to die in his throat. Instantly, Wicket felt fear crash over him like an oncoming tidal wave, and as soon as he blinked, realizing just who was standing before him, cracking his knuckles, Wicket went to run, turning with every intention of going until he hit water, then swimming until he hit land and never ever returning.

It was either that or certain doom.

Not that Wicket even made it a step, despite his litheness and dexterity. Those did not matter much in the face of such brutal strength. Before he could even turn, the giant in front of him grabbed the lapels of his shirt, drawing Wicket's face even with his own, Wicket's feet dangled as the giant asked with a leering smirk, "Former employee of who?"

Wicket's tongue had swelled. The food he had been chewing turning to ash in his mouth as his eyes had darted around, looking for the Duke himself, before the brute shook him, bringing his attention back to the man in front of him as he answered in one rush of breath. The denial came fast, Wicket's voice a few octaves higher then he knew it could get. "N-n-no one. I didn' say no one. I've kept my promise to the Duke!"

The bald brute had grinned then. Not a friendly grin by any stretch of the imagination, causing Wicket to start praying as his stomach dropped all the way to his toes. The large man let go of him before grabbing the back of Wicket's jacket, dragging him from the inn's barroom. Wicket was unsurprised that no one helped him or even looked up from their food and beer, suspiciously intent on not making eye contact with either Wicket, or the giant who had likely come to murder him. Wicket was no fool—he had played with fire and lost, and while he had just been on top of the world—well, it had been a short run, and it seemed as if his small pathetic existence was over. And he had no one but himself to blame for the position he was in.

That was the worst part. Not that Wicket focused on that as he was dragged to the alley behind the bar, his thoughts completely focused on how he was going to be killed. Shot? Strangled? Crushed between this giant mans palms?

The big man finally let him go, Wicket's knees gave out as he landed on the cobblestones, palms flat. All thoughts of running were gone as he huffed out a few deep breaths, expecting the blow that would end his life at any moment. When seconds ticked past and Wicket remained untouched, he finally looked up with hope—before that was crushed as instantly as it had come as he saw that man, that evil man with soulless black eyes glaring at him as he nonchalantly leaned against the wall. The second Wicket met the horrific man's eyes, any and all warmth was sucked from the very air around him.

"Mr. Wicket."

The bald man's voice came from behind him as he said with a hint of amusement, "Look who I found saying he was a former employee of you."

Wicket's immediate reaction was for his back to snap into that of a taut stoop, head bowed as he immediately started to purge himself of anything that had been in his stomach. He could hear the bald brute behind him mutter, "Pathetic," but Wicket had absolutely no control of his own facilities, and even once he was cleansed of any food, he spent a few moments dry heaving, his breath uncontrollable as he wished it had only been the giant here to end him. Brute strength he could handle…the Duke…well….

Wicket, when he could finally get a hold of himself, brought his eyes back up, though he could only go as high as the Duke's chest, his eyes refusing to meet those bleak black pits, "Y-y-your grace."

The Duke did not move, looking the picture of nonchalance as he calmly asked, "So is Nappa telling me the truth? Did you use my name, even though I _specifically_ told you not to?"

Wicket's head snapped back up. He forced himself onto his knees. His heart thundered in his chest as he moved, trying to remain calm, even as a cold sweat doused his body. He knew he looked pathetic as he begged the Duke, palms out, but he could not stop himself, knowing his very life was in the balance as he stuttered out, "N-n-no, I'm s-s-sorry your Grace. I was not going to say your name—he misunderstood. I would never tell anyone about us wor—."

The Duke's voice was quiet, yet it carried heavy weight, "Silence."

Wicket's hands dropped to his side, before one blindly came up, grasping at his chest where Mary's cross had sat the last time he had met with the Duke. When he found it to not be there, he settled with quickly crossing himself, hearing a snort of amusement from the giant behind him. Not that Wicket noticed much, what with still trying to scramble his way out of what was sure to be certain doom. In his own mind Wicket called himself a fool a thousand times over, as lame as they came with forgetting how truly terrifying it was to be in this man's presence. He knew his soul was already damned to whatever hell this demon wanted to banish it too, but he made sure to keep eye contact as the Duke quietly continued, the first flash of emotion Wicket had ever seen on his face flash across it as he simply said, "You have a debt to repay to me."

Wicket did not even hesitate, his heart slamming against his ribcage, as he nodded his head, "Of course, your Grace."

The Duke's eyebrow had winged up over those deep black pits he called eyes as he very calmly said, "You have one hour to find me someone. One hour to rouse every bow street runner at your disposal, to get every man who owes you a favor to pay it, hell, to use every orphan runner on the street to find me where a man who goes by the name of Piccolo is. If you find this man, if you can find me anything about where he is or where he might be, I will forget the name Bob Wicket, and the lies he has spread."

Wicket fell palms flat back to the ground, forcing himself not to sob with gratitude as he bowed, "Of course your Grace. I will find this man at once. No one can stay hidden from Bob Wic—"

The Duke did not let him finish as he slowly and evenly said, "Because I know if you do not find me this man in the hour I have given you, if you do not come back to this bar in an hours time, I promise no one will forget the name Bob Wicket once they find your body and what I have done to it."

That icy bucket of water called fear doused Wicket as he bowed further down, trying to pay some sort of penance as he nodded, "Of course, your Grace. Of course."

There was a sound. The sound of steps walking away. Wicket finally looked up long after they had faded, his body shaking uncontrollably, finding himself alone in the suddenly warmer alley.

When he looked down at his darkened pants leg and saw the puddle beneath him, he suddenly understood why it had grown warmer.

* * *

><p>Chi-Chi could remember, oh how she could remember, this sinking dread. There was nothing else like it. A coiling terror that slithered in the pit of her stomach, hissing and frothing, creeping into her veins and freezing her blood until all she knew was this chilling numbness. It was just like that horrible day. Five years ago. Eighteen years old, but feeling much more like a wee lassie as she had felt this all-consuming numbness.<p>

That was where Chi-Chi was now, trapped in her younger self and not sitting in front of Dr. and Mrs. Briefs in their quant pallor. Knees trembling, she faced her alone—not with Goku steadfast at her side, clasping her hand as he explained their plans to wed. Chi-Chi saw not the politely blinking older couple she had come to know and respect, but _him_, the one authority that must be obeyed. Her father.

"Chi-Chi and I met when she worked in the kitchens at Saiyan manor…" her love's voice carried the vast distance, flittering on the edge of her mind. Her anchor to reality.

Instead of a beaming Mrs. Briefs, Chi-Chi was lost in a memory of that day. Her father towering over her trembling frame, his hefty size making him seem more like a mountain than a man. His chubby cheeks were red with rage, the only time she could recall him ever being mad, as he graveled in his thick brogue, "_What do ye mean you will not marry MacDougal's son?!" _

"We want to make a life together…"

Tremors racked his body. Miniature earthquakes as he flailed his arms, the gestures punctuating key words that fueled his fury. "_Is this what a 'London' education has done to ye?" _He roared, spittle spewing from his mouth like erupting lava,_ "Made it so you will disobey your own father and his wishes?" _The color drained from her face. Numbly she wiped off the few drops of spit on her cheek. Never had she imagined he would be this mad at her for flat out refusing to marry some lad. A lad, Chi-Chi wanted to point out, she had never even met before!

"She means the world to me, and I love her…."

Chi-Chi knew she was young. Perhaps even a little naïve. But she had not left her loving home when her mother had died six years before, and attended school in London just so she could come home and be some brawn-bound laddie's wife and…slave! Ay, no doubt he was strong, strapping, and worthy. In her father's eyes alone, that is. To her this lad was a stranger and fiend. A man who would take her freedom away. He would shackle her to the old-ways. The old-ways, ay! Those were the 'golden ages.' Where brutes called themselves warriors and chained their faithful and ever loyal, never questioning wives to their homestead. She would be little more than cattle to this man. Her sharp tongue and quick wit lost with years of heavy fits, condemning her for thinking, or brushing her opinion off entirely. He would surely laugh at the idea she could fight, and defend herself.

As hurt and as angry as she had been, she could not match her father's rage. When she had first told him she refused to marry this hooligan, his eyes had zoned out. His face paling to bone ash as he became as unmoving as stone. Then, the muscle in his neck had started to twitch. With an eerie calm his eyes had narrowed on her. In that moment, Chi-Chi had finally understood how her father hand won the respected title of King of the unruly, rough clans of the north. She had never understood how he could be known as the 'Raging Bear' from his men and all who saw him on the battlefield when he was such a teddy bear in real life.

But now…there was no sweetness, nor cuddliness to him. His voice was a low rumble as he told her, "_Ye are no daughter of mine if ye are going to disrespect me like this. Ye will marry MacDougal's son or you will never leave the castle again. Ye hear me?"_

"I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner…"

To say Chi-Chi was shocked would be too simple. Her father had never denied her anything. Not a single thing she had ever asked for. Nor had she ever not done exactly as he had wished. And yet—the one time she refuses to do what he asked and this was how he reacted? Chi-Chi was numb. Cold. A whirlwind of emotions warring within her. Or course she was afraid. She had not felt this scared and alone since right before her mother had died. But she was hurt. Torn. Could he not see how she was shattering before him? All her life he told her she was special. And while he never stated it, she had always believed her life meant more than being a girl who would become a wife, and then give life to some lad's offspring.

He did not see, though. Perhaps if he did, the next words to leave his lips would have never been uttered, "_No, you will not get off that easily, either you marry MacDougal's son, or I will send you to a covenant, where you will never set eyes on the outside world for the rest of your li—"_

Something squeezed her hand. The force snapped Chi-Chi out of her memories. Numb, as she looked down at her trembling hand. She stared. Confused. Slowly the fog of the past that lingered before her eyes faded. Not something—someone. Goku had squeezed her hand. It took her a few more seconds to grasp that she was not that eighteen-year-old girl anymore. The one who had been sitting in her father's smoky hunting room getting her heart shredded by the one person who she thought would never hurt her. Instead, there she was, sitting next to the man she loved.

Chi-Chi blinked. Taking a deep breath, she quieted her racing heart, drawing strength from Goku's presence. The memories had rattled her, but she was okay now. Ay, she was okay, as long as he was beside her. He smiled, but there was a pinch in his brows that spoke of his concern. Chi-Chi took a shaky breath—before she smiled back at him, trying to ease his worries. Especially now, since she realized she was here, with him.

Kami, when and how had this man come to mean so much to her?

Finding her will, Chi-Chi turned, facing the direction of his parents. Steadier than she had been before, she was still not ready to meet their eyes. Her gaze settled between them, bracing herself to hear their recriminations and yelling. There was something she wanted to say first, though, before all the yelling. She squeezed Goku's hand and managed to keep her voice even, "I'm sorry I had to lie to you at first about who I was… it was just—"

"Chi-Chi, did you say you were going to marry my son?" Mrs. Briefs warm voice stabbed through her long diatribe, surprising Chi-Chi with a warmth she had not heard since she had run away from her ancestral home.

Chi-Chi was taken aback. Her breath caught. Then took a deep breath and admitting to that fascinating spot on the wall right between the doctor and his wife, "I want to, Mrs. Briefs, if that's okay with you? The truth is….Well, the truth is that I love him."

Dr. and Mrs. Briefs turned to look at each other. The silence prickled on her skin. Unable to bare the hush Chi-Chi finally looked at them. They seemed to have been in the middle of some non-verbal communication. A brow rise there. A flick of his mustache. Her head tilted, and he pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose. They must have come to some sort of decision as they both turned to face the younger pair, large grins on their faces.

Dr. Briefs merely questioned, "So you will be marrying my son?"

Chi-Chi met his eyes. Hope lit in her like a faint flickering candle on a moonless night as she saw them smiling, not glaring at her.

Clearing her throat with a polite cough, she murmured, "Uhm…yes?"

Before she could process what was happening, Mrs. Briefs launched herself at Chi-Chi, pulled her into a bear hug and she started to cry. Chi-Chi stared down at the sobbing older woman in her arms who blurted out, "Oh thank you! Thank you so much Chi-Chi!"

Chi-Chi was bewildered. With her own mother having died at such a young age, she could not remember what it was like to be caught in such a loving embrace. At least, not since the last time she had seen her father. But she did not want to keep thinking about the past. Chi-Chi sat stock still for a moment before her own arms tentatively came up and hugged Mrs. Briefs back. A small smile tugged on her lips. She might not remember what it was like to be hugged by a mom…but it was nice. For the first time in a very long time, Chi-Chi felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. They did not hate her for having to lie. They wanted her to be a part of their family! Chi-Chi felt her smile grow into a grin as her own eyes tearing up at the affection in Mrs. Briefs voice and arms. She held onto the older woman a smidgen tighter. Before she knew it, Goku was crushing both of them in his arms. A huge toothy grin stretched his face as he lifted his adoptive mother and soon-to-be-wife off the ground.

When Chi-Chi was finally let go from the impromptu group hug that even the Doctor was forced to join, she took a step back and dropped onto the couch. She was overwhelmed. Their outpouring happiness. It was almost too much for her. Chi-Chi looked up at them in wonderment, a doubtful, negative part of her still waiting for the other shoe to drop as she said, "You're…you're welcome Mrs. Briefs?"

Mrs. Briefs took over Goku's old seat, grabbing Chi-Chi's hand in her own as she beamed at her, "Please, dear! You're going to be my daughter soon! Call me Mom," Chi-Chi blanched at that, not having called anyone mom for an extremely long time, and Mrs. Briefs (who Chi-Chi was starting to realize was wiser than she let on), immediately followed up with, "Or Bunny, please. Call me Bunny!"

Chi-Chi nodded her head. Her earlier anxiety at having to speak to this pair—as well as all of the memories of her last time having seen her father—slipped away. For the first time in almost five years she spoke with her real accent. She felt relief when she realized her life of pretending to be someone other than who she really was over. She had found a new family. And while something in her dinged at realizing her father would not be at her own wedding, to walk her down the aisle like they had always played pretend when she was younger, Chi-Chi did not let herself dwell on this. Instead, she smiled warmly at the woman.

"Okay. Bunny."

"So this wedding," Dr. Briefs spoke up, leaning forward as he puffed on his pipe, his own face set in a grin. "Are we going to do things the traditional way this time, or is it another mad chase up to Gretna Green again?" He stood a few feet away, stroking a cat Chi-Chi noticed sitting on his shoulder. She blinked, a little startled. Wondering how long that cat had been there, and how she had not noticed it before.

Goku laughed at that, putting his hand behind his head in that familiar gesture of embarrassment as he said, "Sheesh dad! Of course we want to have a big wedding this time—"

Bunny's squeal pierced through the air. It surprised Chi-Chi and she gawked at the woman who had made that unholy sound right next to her. Though it seemed the two men in the room hardly noticed as Goku continued, "But I want to do things right first, and head to Scotland to ask Chi-Chi's father for her hand."

Chi-Chi's anxiety came rushing back with that word, _father_. All she could do was shake her head. Again, for what had to be the hundredth time. Knowing far too well that no matter how many times she told Goku they did not need to (and should not!), he would not listen. He was like a dog with a bone.

Bunny noticed, quirking her head to the side as she asked, "Is everything okay, Chi-Chi?"

Chi-Chi considered lying. It would be easier. And regretfully she was used to it. Yet, instead she allowed herself to be honest as she explained, "I told Goku that asking my father will not be necessary. I did not leave home on good terms, and I have not seen my father in over five years. When I left…well, my father made it very clear that if I left that I was no daughter of his."

Goku looked at her, frowning. She could practically hear the words he said all those other times she voiced her concern. _Then why would he put up the missing person's posters for you if he did not care?_ But he left them unsaid, for once, before turning back to face his mother and father. "Either way, we want this to be proper—but we want to announce the banns starting this Sunday so we can be married within the month, mom."

Bunny squealed. Again. Chi-Chi thought she was going to go deaf if it kept up, but she allowed the anxiety to drain from her body. The older woman, once again, reached for Chi-Chi, pulling the younger woman into her body for a bone-crushing hug. "Oh we are going to have such fun planning this wedding, Chi-Chi, I hope you don't mind if I help you—I want to help you. I hope you like the color pink. It is a favorite of mine, I'll have you know. Back in the states—Oh! it is a shame you two will not be marrying back in the states, as I know a wonderful little place that has the most divine pink lace that one can find in the market." Chi-Chi's head was already spinning. She did not think it possible for anyone to say so much on one breath. Bur the older woman proved that it was indeed possible as she prattled on, not at all stopping for air, "But that is all right. I suppose your life will be here, in England. Or maybe Scotland. But I do hope you will come to America, dear! If Goku's duties as a viscount permit it, of course. Though I suppose we ought to wait and see if Bulma has a son before we declare Goku the viscount still…."

There was a brief lapse, Chi-Chi thinking the woman was done before Bunny picked up her trailing thought up again, as if there had been no pause, "Though I suppose if Goku is not a viscount, maybe we can persuade you to spend more time in America. On the contrary, if both of my children are married and settled in England, that will hardly stop me from coming to visit—."

The door to the Briefs suite slammed into the wall, causing all four to jerk from the shock and the cat on the Doctor's shoulder to bolt down the hall. All four heads swiveled to the front of the sitting room. One of the hotel's provided footmen was standing there, panting. "Pardon the interruption, madam, but there is a urgent message for the Viscount Vegetasei."

Goku stood, confused. The rest of the family watched as he took the missive, tearing it open to read it. Chi-Chi's breath caught as she saw the color drain from his face, his face becoming more and more drawn. His natural smile, gone. The electric happiness that had filled the room moments earlier vanished. A tense unease replacing it as everyone watched Goku, waiting for him to explain what was in the letter. When he finally looked up, Chi-Chi felt her heart drop. Never had she seen him look so serious as he said, "I must go."

Chi-Chi stood. Ready to ask questions. Only to find that Mrs. Briefs hand was on her forearm. She looked to her future mother-in-law who shook her head. Bunny then took a deep breath, smiling encouragingly as she spoke for all of them, "Okay dear, be safe."

Goku nodded once. With long strides he reached Chi-Chi, left a kiss on her cheek and was gone, whisking from the room as if he had never been there. There was a silence for a thick moment. The three other occupants of the room left slowly, trailing to the door after him only to stand in the entry. Chi-Chi's curiosity and unease replaced the happiness she had just found from his parents being so understanding. She turned to look at Bunny, a question already on the tip of her tongue.

Bunny was not looking at her, though, staring at her husband instead, murmuring, "You saw the seal."

Dr. Briefs nodded, looking grave. "That message was from Vegeta. I hope Bulma is all right."

Chi-Chi moved forward then, into the hall her soon-to-be-husband had disappeared into. She turned back to them, a confident smile on her face, "She will be, if Goku is going to her."

The worried parents blinked. Then a smile appeared under Dr. Briefs mustache as he told her, "You, my dear, are going to be extremely good for Goku. Welcome to the family."

Chi-Chi returned the warm smile. Though she could not keep her eyes from going back to the hall Goku had disappeared through, hoping with everything in her that Goku's family was okay.

* * *

><p>AN: I had to chop this chapter in half, it was getting quite long and so the original end of this chapter is going to be at the beginning of the next chapter. Fun facts about this story!

So hands raised, who remembered Bob Wicket? If you still do not remember him, head back to the prologue for a refresher. Hell, you might need to read the whole story again, because it has been so long. Once again, I am so fraggin sorry. Trust me, there will not be this long of a wait for the next chapter, PROMISE.

Also, how sad is it that I have been writing this story for so long, that when I saw Brave like 2 years ago, I was like, "Dude, that was totally the story line I had planned for Chi-Chi," the whole Scottish woman who did not want to marry her intended. Just shows you how long this story has been going on….


	38. Patience is a Virtue

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ, I would be sitting on a beach somewhere writing this story in front of my private beach villa. One can dream, right?

Warnings: Cussing, some violence.

A/N: I want to keep this short and sweet—the three year anniversary of this story is in two days (HOLY CRAP), and I could not be more thankful and blessed from the reception I have always gotten from those of you who have read the story. I do not think I could thank you all enough. Seriously, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Lilpumpkingirl, this story is only possible because you get what I'm trying to say even when I don't say it in the most cohesive way. You are the best.

Finally, I want to give a last shout out to three very special friends of mine: desicup12, whisperingreengrass, and ra-ra-raditz (happy belated!). You three—thank you for always being there when I need to chat, your friendships mean the world to me. Your messages keep me going, and keep me writing, so thank you from the very bottom of my heart.

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Patience is a Virtue

_Tap, tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap, Tap._

His associate's fingers hit the table, a steady succession of useless noise stretching on between the two as they sat in the shady corner at the inn common room.

_Tap, tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap, Tap._

Vegeta reclined in his chair, facing the open dining area, observing, taking an interest in every little thing in the bar, his senses on high alert. There was a married coal worker sweet-taking the pretty barmaid at the bar proper. The bartender sneered and rolled his eyes at every cheesy line the coal worker tried. There was also a fidgety lawyer who clutched his satchel close to his chest, who intermittently patted his brow with a long soaked hanky, and muttered about missing numbers. Vegeta brought his mug of ale to his lips. Sipped. Then grimaced. He tasted nothing but cheap piss-water on his tongue. He longed for a good snifter of scotch, whiskey or even brandy—but no. They were in some working class pub, and all they got was warm ale.

_Tap, tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap, Tap._

Rolling his neck and feeling a satisfying pop, Vegeta glanced at Nappa's beefy fingers. The larger man was careless in appearance, lounged with his trunk legs sprawled and head tilted back against the wall. Vegeta frowned. With a twitch in his jaw, he forced his gaze back on the coal worker and barmaid. He sipped from his mug, and forced himself to swallow, and not spit it back out.

_Tap, tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap, Tap._

Easing his grip of the mug's handle, Vegeta set is on the table and crossed his arms. He dipped his head forward and closed his eyes.

_Tap, tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap, Tap._

His jaw twitched. Slowly, his eyes opened revealing piercing, soulless black. Vegeta titled his head, training his gaze to the window and the world outside. London bustled on, people and carriages passing by in a blur. No care to his inner woes, or the fact that Vegeta was about to save the British Empire. Again. _Where the fuck is that runner?_

_Tap, tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap, Tap, tap-tap, Tap._

Vegeta bit back a groan. His head turned, eyes narrowing on Nappa's fingers. For what had to be the hundredth time he fought down the urge to yell at him to stop. Instead he reached for his mug. Horrible ale as it was, it was a needed distraction. In three gulps he finished it, keeping his face stoic as he set the mug back on the table, contemplating whether or not to buy another ale. He started to cross his arms, but then realized he looked anything but casual and rested them on the arms of his chair.

Damn it all! He was too wound up to be simply sitting here, sipping on warm ale like some lower class twit. Vegeta finally had a lead. Piccolo had to be Zhelonie! And once he found Zhelonie—he wound find out what the French man was doing for the Russian's. Was Frieza here already? If so, what was his end game? Once he had these answers, Vegeta would dispose of Zhelonie with his bare hands. Then. Then Vegeta would pay Frieza back for everything he had ever done to the Vegetasei family.

But he was forced to wait. Forced to sit here, at the shitty bar they had found that bow street runner at. The same bow street runner who had already betrayed his trust. All for information Vegeta wished he could glean on his own. But no, that would not do. Running around the streets of London looking for Piccolo himself was impossible for a lord of his status. And surely not the best way to surprise his enemy. In fact, if Zhelonie got wind of Vegeta knowing who he was before Vegeta was ready, there was a good chance the man would warn off Frieza, and both of them would disappear, slipping through his fingers one more time.

No. Vegeta could not have that. So instead, he sat. He waited. He let his tapping buffoon of a second tap away. Their eyes surreptitiously checking the door every time it opened—disappointed each and every time it was not Wicket. The only upside to the door opening was that it was the only time Nappa's hand would stop giving Vegeta a few moments of silence. Inevitably, and rather unfortunately for him, the _tap, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap _would start up again. And equally inevitable, as the time drew on, Vegeta grew more and more frustrated with the man who had raised him since childhood.

Vegeta forced himself to think of how he would approach Frieza. How he would finally get the revenge he had so long planned on. It helped to ease some of the tension. He could always go for the quick and clean kill, of course, but he did not think he wanted that. No, he wanted the man to suffer. He yearned for the Tsesarevich to beg for his life in his last few minutes. Vegeta had to have that man look at him and plead, grovel at his feet, before Vegeta finally ended his life by ripping his head from his body.

It was a moment Vegeta had fantasized about for days on end. His hatred of the Tsesarevich had been solidified long before Tarble had gotten involved. It had all started when the Russian prince had defeated Vegeta's armada during what was supposed to be a raid of a Russian armory. Standard—but they had not been expecting the Tsesarevich himself to be there, or the bloodbath that had followed. Vegeta had even bitten his tongue when the Tsesarevich had boarded his ship, and admitted defeat, humiliatingly surrendering for the sake of the men under him. They were under his care—if they died, it would be his fault. But the Tsesarevich had always been a bloodthirsty bastard, taking Vegeta hostage and forcing him to watch as each ship in his armada was sunk, the cries of his men echoing through the flames of the wreckage of his ships, the frigid waters finishing what the fire had not. None of his men had been allowed to survive. Those that had tried to swim for land had been shot, one at a time, Vegeta forced to watch as the men who trusted him to lead, were killed.

Good men had died that day. Men who…well, Vegeta did not have friends, but they had been his companions—some from the time he had first enrolled in the Navy. They were men who could make him smirk, who had given him advice in battle, men who had made him forget his venomous upbringing by the dowager. But they were dead. All of them. That had been the day, as he watched each and every last one of his men die, which Vegeta had started on this Kami-forsaken path. A path where he would cool the Russian prince—or die trying.

And then there was Tarble….

Vegeta felt a flicker of sadness as he thought about his younger brother. There was no denying his fault in Tarble's death. When Vegeta had returned home ransomed from the Russian prisons (that had been the Tsar's decision, though, not the Tsesarevich's), brought back to England by his father's sickness, he had been changed, all but shunning ht world. Lost in the gloom of his past, in his new life's mission. He built up walls that were unimaginably high and sneered at those who dared to get close. Once the dowager had been banished to Scotland, no one felt Vegeta's contempt as much as Tarble. Tarble who had only wanted the brother he had lost for years to come back. He wanted the ease and familiarity of childhood to return. But more than that, he wanted Vegeta's respect. More than anything he wanted to be closer to Vegeta.

So Tarble had joined the Navy.

The flicker of sadness twisted, grew and mutated in his thoughts, becoming a churning rage. _I did to him what father had done to me_. It was a bitter, and frankly hard to swallow, realization. While for different reasons, Vegeta had done what the dowager and his father had been guilty of doing to him. He had burned Tarble with the heavy weight of family expectations. Had told him to do things the Vegetasei way, and that he had to prove himself as a man to uphold the family honor. There was little choice but for Tarble to do as Vegeta had once done. Run away. Run to the Navy and prove himself. Exactly the way Vegeta had.

But his younger brother had never, could…would never be like him. Tarble, much like Kakkarot, had always been kind. Gentle. Caring. Always considerate of those around him and loyal to a fault. No matter how many times the dowager had tried to break his spirit, like she had broken Vegeta's, Tarble was always good and kind to all around him. He would have been a great man. Especially since he, while not strong physically like Vegeta—had been strong in another way. His spirit had never broken, had never turned black like Vegeta's had—Tarble had always remained true to what he believed in. And he would have made a brilliant scholar—if things were different.

Vegeta cursed under his breath, earning a sharp look from Nappa. He shook his head and his associate shrugged. With a sigh, he crossed his arms, no longer caring if he appeared casual or not. His head tipped forward, once again lost in thought. Tarble's death—Vegeta might as well have been the one that pulled the trigger to the gun that had killed him. Vegeta was not sure of all the details—but all he knew was that Tarble had been captured, and when he had returned to England…. Well, he had been dead, with the seal of the Tsesarevich burned into his chest. After that moment, after seeing that familiar sigil, the few other paths Vegeta once had besides vengeance, vanished. There was only Frieza. There was only death.

Or so he had once believed.

No, he still believed.

Only death awaited him.

His thoughts shifted, turning to his unexpected wife and their unborn child. The churning, blazing rage cooled to remorse. A child. Never had he thought he would sire one. He had always taken precautions to ensure he never even had the chance to impregnate a woman. But no one could predict a woman like Bulma. And now he would be leaving her and his unborn child. He was leaving a little boy or girl to grow up in this harsh world without a father to protect them. Something he swore he would never do. That was, unless, Bulma remarried of course. Vegeta could not help the dark smirk on his lips. Selfish as it was, he would come back and haunt her as a specter to ensure that would never happen. Even in death, she was his. The child was his. Only his.

Tapping his fingers against his bicep, Vegeta idly wondered how his child would turn out. His smirk into a faint, almost warm, smile as he imagined the brain any kid of Bulma would surely have (and that she would no doubt nurture beyond reason without his interference). He feared his unborn child would either be an eccentric genius, like Bulma, or a book worm, like Tarble had been, since Vegeta would not be there to round the edges of the child physically. _There is Kakarrot..._ Perhaps he should have written something in that note to Kakarrot to let him know he was to train his child if it were a boy, and if it were a girl, well, to train her slightly less.

The furrow in his brow lessened as he wondered what their unborn child would look like. _Poor Bulma_, he mused with more than a little humor. His family's genes were strong. There was a good chance that their child would come out with the Saiyan coloring. Tan skin. Black hair and eyes. Still, Vegeta would not be disappointed if he found out some of Bulma made it into their child as well—the Saiyan hair and skin, but with her eyes? Those luminous blue eyes that could suck him in more than any part of her?

Though if it were a daughter, Vegeta secretly hoped that she did not get a trace of Bulma at all. He shuddered at the idea that his daughter with Bulma would no doubt be as irresistible to men as Bulma was. Vegeta could just see how much trouble a beautiful daughter would be—look at Bulma, with her own parents. And he was not fool enough to think he would be as laid back as the Briefs were with her—perhaps the note should have included instructions that if the unborn babe was indeed a beautiful daughter, to not train her and to instead hide her from the male gaze for…well, her whole life.

"What are you thinking about?"

Vegeta jolted in his chair. He had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he had not noticed that Nappa's hand had stopped tapping or that his second was staring at him with open curiosity. Never mind that Vegeta himself had a rather untimely smile on his face. Vegeta let the smile instantly drop, his arms crossing tightly around his body, tensing as he grumbled, "Ripping Frieza's head from his body."

Nappa raised an eyebrow, quirking his head, but for once he kept whatever comments he had to himself. His fingers began tapping again before Vegeta could blink. Vegeta glared at the irritating appendages. Then he inwardly sighed as he looked out the window.

He knew that it did not matter what color eyes his child with Bulma had, or whether or not his daughter would be beautiful. It did not change his path. Or the undeniable truth at the end of his path. He would never see this child, he would be dead, cold, decaying in the ground somewhere if he were lucky, or ripped to pieces and left to rot if he were not.

He had known that long before he had met Bulma. He had known it when he taken her in the gardens (and the opera, and the library…). He had certainly known when he had married her. And it was still true now. Nothing was going to change. He could never go back on that vow he had made long ago.

Though…

Bulma's word… spoken to him just last night. Those words, that even now had his heart constricting, broke through, her soft voice, her bedroom eyes and tousled hair affecting his self as deeply as it affected his body: "_No matter what, you have at least one person out there in the world that loves you…soon to be two. And we both need you Vegeta, remember that."_

Vegeta frowned, unconsciously rubbing the spot where his heart was, as those words sank through his defenses. When it came to Bulma, he might as well have none. She loved him? How could…. How could anyone _love_ him? He was barely human—he knew he was little better than a wax figure of a human being when it came to feelings.

And yet…

Yet—Bulma, the complete opposite of him in so many ways had gotten to know him. She had seen more of him than any other human had. Part of him was waiting for her to flee from him, to run in the opposite direction the more she knew of him. But she had not. In fact, when he had tried running from the damned woman, she had followed him.

And…and confound it all—she loved him.

She had looked him straight in the eyes and told him that she loved him. Him. Not the man he projected, but the man he truly was. And what was more…she needed him.

Nobody had ever said they had needed Vegeta before. No one had ever truly needed him. Sure, they had needed the Duke and his influence, or the weight the Vegetasei name brought. But no one had ever looked at Vegeta, as a man, and said that they needed and loved him. Now he had a wife at home who already loved him.

To spend the first thirty-two years of his life without ever really having someone need him—and then, just six months before his life was to end, he meets the one person in the world who actually needed him…. How was that fucking fair?!

Nappa's hand stopped tapping Vegeta, however, was alert enough to notice it this time. He showed the thoughts about Bulma and her words (that distracting witch!) deep down, hopefully never to think about them again, and looked at his subordinate. Nappa was carefully examining Vegeta, and did not stop even as Vegeta stared him down.

Vegeta's lip curled, Nappa only cocked his head to the side, as a dog that was confused would. His irritation mounted, and unable to help himself, he snapped, "Do you have something to fucking say, Nappa, or do you simply think I'm pretty?"

Nappa pursed his lips for a moment, before giving a lazy smirk, "I told you Wicket was going to speak."

It was Vegeta's turn to purse his lips in disfavor as he thought back to that conversation that seemed years ago and not just months ago. "And I told you he would be useful."

Nappa grunted at that, taking a chug of his ale before he wiped the foam from his ridiculous mustache with the back of his sleeve. He snorted, "He has not returned yet. There is a very large chance you scared that pathetic fool so much he will never return."

Vegeta felt a quirk of annoyance rush through him, especially as he heard the truth in those words. He had taken a risk in threatening the man with his life and then letting him go to do his bidding. But Vegeta had to believe that he still had the ability to draw more respect than just fear out of a person, and that Wicket would not be stupid enough to cross the Duke of Vegetasei twice. No one disrespected him twice and lived to tell about it!

Vegeta looked at his associate with hard conviction, "If he does, I give you permission to hunt him and kill him, Nappa. And as painfully as possible, if it pleases you."

Nappa grinned at that, but then that too faded from his face as he growled, "I think we should kill him even if he returns with the information, make an example out of him."

Freezing, Vegeta examined his hulking companion warily. The older man's hand clenched and unclenched. His grin giddy, sinister even. And while Vegeta knew six months ago, or hell, even a month ago, he would have been agreeing with Nappa without a second's hesitation, Vegeta found himself somewhat troubled by Nappa's joy. He even swore he heard Bulma's displeased voice in his head, "_think about his wife…and hi children."_

"No."

Nappa's eyes widened, repeating, "No?" He snarled, "No?!"

Vegeta shrugged, dismissive as he watched the room, "No."

Feeling the older brutes glare, Vegeta rolled his eyes and sighed. Slowly as if he was speaking to a child, he said, "_If_ he returns with the information, he lives. That was what I told him. You should know I always keep my word."

Nappa opened his mouth to speak. His face contorted. He closed his mouth. He opened it again. Then he cracked it shut. His disbelief tangible. If not for the situation Vegeta may have even laughed.

"Huh," he managed to huff out before he continued the hinging and unhinging of his jaw.

Brow twitching, the amuse fading swiftly, Vegeta snapped, "Stop that. You look like a fucking fish out of water."

Flinching, Nappa closed his mouth and turned, "Uh…right." He coughed into his hand, hiding his fluster.

Vegeta shook his head. _That damn woman, she's changing me_. More like had changed him, but he refused to let her creep back into he thoughts. He should be focusing at the task at hand.

Fortunately, the bell above the door dinged. Both of them (not very furtively this time) turned to look at the door. There—looking somehow red and out of breath, and yet white with fear at the same time—was Bob Wicket. He leaned over, hands on his knees panting hard, as his eyes skimmed over the tables and to the dark corner Vegeta and Nappa occupied. Wicket looked as if he had personally run all over London to get the information Vegeta wanted.

Vegeta smiled in satisfaction.

He still had it.

As Wicket approached, Vegeta made sure he was the picture of indifference and ease. He uncrossed his arms an drew his pocket watch from his vest pocket, checking it slowly as the other man finally stopped in front of him, huffing and puffing. Vegeta gave a nod at the watch. His black eyes glanced to the man's face, piercing. Rolling his eyes, he suppressed a snort as the man crossed himself.

Vegeta tucked his pocket watch back into his vest. "Only forty-five minutes. I am impressed."

He felt Nappa's disapproving stare on him, but Vegeta refused to meet his eyes, even as he saw—from the corner of his eye—Nappa's ham sized hands turn to fists. His attention was drawn back to Wicket though, as he finally caught his breath enough to huff out, "Your…your (huff), your Grace."

Vegeta took a long sip of his beer, forgetting until the mug was to his lips that it was empty. Still, he made a show of taking an imaginary sip and smacking his lips before coolly continuing, "Yes, Mr. Wicket? Did you find him? I did not think you fool enough to return without a solid lead for me."

Wicket nodded dumbly. Then his eyes widened, shaking his head. There was a glint in them, shining with a mixture of fear and triumph, "O-of course I found him! I always find…" the words died on the poor man's tongue as he saw the glare coming his way from the bald giant, cutting off whatever he was going to say. Wicket swallowed, and muttered, "Billy found him." He searched around him, almost frantic, before he stomped over to a dirty runt of a boy frozen a few tables away, grabbing his wrist and dragging him over to the table.

Vegeta fought the urge to frown. When, he wondered, had he gotten so unobservant that he had not even noticed there was someone following Wicket. Then again, to be fair, the boy was tiny and Wicket's bulk had completely covered him. Vegeta leaned on his right arm, resting his chin on his fist as he examined the boy. His brow creased, recognition there, but…_Oh, the docks_. That was where he recognized him from. He was one of the runts who ran the docks, looking for food or coin, that the seamen called a 'street urchin.'

Vegeta's piercing eyes softened.

The boy, Billy, was small, and thin. He was perhaps ten years old. And clearly he was not getting near enough to eat by the rags that hung from his skeletal frame. His eyes were large, shrunken into his emaciated face. He blinked, owl-eyed, staring in wonder at Vegeta, a duke. No. The Dark Duke.

Billy was nervously running his hands over his cap as he bowed, his cockney accent thick when he finally spoke, "Yo' Grace."

At one time, Vegeta might have wrinkled his nose in disgust at the dirty boy—so dirty in fact, one could not tell what his hair color was—but Vegeta kept his face passive. He knew better than most that the boy did not need or want pity. It did the boy little good in the cold of night as hunger gnawed at his stomach. Instead, Vegeta gave a slight bow of his head.

This caught the boy (as well as the other two men) by surprise. Vegeta could not help the smirk that graced his face as the boy bowed again in a quick start, forehead knocking on the edge of the table. He sprang up, a volley of curses that would make some of Vegeta's most hardened sailors (or Bulma) blush. The boy rubbed the spot as his eyes watered. Vegeta rolled his eyes inwardly, but waited until the boy was done cursing before softly questioning, "Do you know where Piccolo is?'

Billy nodded emphatically, still rubbing the spot he had hit his forehead before he continued, "O' course I does, sirs. We works together at the docks, sees. In them south shippin' yards."

Vegeta rose to his feet, ready to see Piccolo for himself, to question him and his motives. Wicket stumbled back as Nappa stood with him, growling out, "Is he there now?"

The boy shook his head. His eyes grew wider as he followed Nappa's hulking form all the way up. When no further information was forthcoming, the boy in shock at the giant before him, Vegeta blew out a frustrated breath, "Then where?" Those owlish eyes blinked back at him, and Vegeta gritted out, "Where is he?"

Billy's voice was nervous, his whole countenance changing, " 'E 'as a place. Kips in a room in them blue buildin's on Canal, above the butcher's. Seen it, meself, I 'aved"

Vegeta felt triumph flash through him, and he smiled victoriously. And while he'd rather rush ahead, his Saiyan blood thirsting for battle, he forced himself to stay a few seconds longer taking out all of the notes from his pocket. He flashed them, making sure Wicket was watching as he passed them to Billy. He sharpened his glare back onto the hungry looking man eyeing the boy thumbing through the money.

"You make sure this boy finds a nice home, where he won't have to work ever again in his life. Or I will kill you myself."

Vegeta was surprised the man could still be threatened…and by such an uninspired threat, as well—but apparently it was inspired enough. Wicket dipped into a low bow, hastily muttering, "Right away, your grace." Then he rose, patting his sweating brow with his sleeve and ushered Billy away, firmly grasping his shoulder.

Vegeta took a second to stare into nothing, as he realized this was it. He had found Zhelonie. Zhelonie was the key to Frieza. The hast he had felt moments ago vanished suddenly. Bulma's face flashed in his mind. His mouth was dry. A chill shivered down his spine.

Nappa's voice broke through, a surprisingly warm tenor in his second's voice as he prompted, "Sir? Shall we head to Canal?"

Vegeta turned to look back at him, wondering how much Nappa had deduced, but then he nodded, and followed the mountainous man out of the inn. All the while cursing the timing of his short life.

* * *

><p>William was a tired old man… a tired old man who had dreamed of his later years as being the time in his life when he could finally sit back and just <em>relax<em>. When he could put his days at sea behind him. When he could find contentment on land. He envisioned living with his mistress and their ever-growing brood of children, and just watch the years pass around him. He had been convinced that by this age, seventy-one, that he would be able to do what every man dreamed of: Spend everyday sitting at White's, sipping on overpriced brandy, puffing on a woody cigar, relaxing in a lounger he sat in so often his butt would forever be imprinted in it, and reminiscing about his idealized past. Hell, it was his retirement, and if that meant he would only remember the islands they had discovered with beautiful women, and not the ones with hungry natives, that was his choice.

But that had not been William's path.

Instead he had been cursed with the misfortune of being born to a King—and not just any King, but the King of England. William, though, had been convinced he had been safe from responsibility since he had been born a third son! But alas, he had not been so lucky. Georgie, the oldest, who had been King before him, had taken to a life of excess. William could not say that he had been that surprised when he had heard that his brother, who suffered from gout, dropsy, breathlessness, and a weight of 17 stone, 7 pounds—had passed. But it was not welcome news, especially as Freddy, brother number two, had died only three years earlier of a heart malady as he sat sipping whiskey at their friends the Duke of Rutland's house. Freddy had never had any children, and Georgie, like William, had only produced living children with his mistress, meaning none of his children were eligible to be heirs.

Which is how William now found himself sitting in a cabinet room full of advisors, bored to tears as their voices continued to drone on and on instead of enjoying a life of leisure that was his right as an old man. William often thought of Georgie as he worked through the tedium of being a King, wondering if his death had been one last giant 'fuck you' to William. He had always been jealous of William's time as a sailor/ Envious of the ease at which William could leave. Wherever he wanted. Whenever he wanted. Never shackled down by the burden of the crown. It was ironic really. What better way for dear brother Georgie to get back at him for all those years of flaunting his fun times abroad, than to force him to stay in one place and sit through such boring dreariness?

Still, William begrudgingly reminded himself, though he had been King for less than ten years, and he was tired of the political intrigue (hell, truth be told, he never really had understood it or acknowledged _or _participated in it)—he had felt he had done some good with his short tenure. It had not made him popular with the more stiff-lipped British upper class, especially when he had abolished slavery throughout the empire and made them pay those poor natives they were exploiting in British landholdings—but it gave William a tremendous sense of well being, this doing well for all of humankind. His advisors could warn him over and over that he was losing the respect of the Ton, but he knew he had the public on his side. What other kings could say that? Certainly not Georgie!

There was something to be said about being made king when one was not really expecting it, and at such an old age. There was a freedom afforded to William and the decisions he could make, since he would not have to worry about years and years of political fallout. No making sure to scratch certain people's backs so they would later scratch his. No kowtowing to his board, so he would gain their favor later on. No sucking up to the Ton in the hopes they would support him later on. Nope. None of that bullshit.

He could implement a change, and if they did not like it—hang them all! He was a King, and he was not a man to be trifled with. So (he was constantly remind himself) there were perks to being king. Though they felt few and far between when he was in hour six of a ten-hour meeting at the House of Lords. Why did every person in his cabinet have to speak for so long?

His cabinet…if he could abolish them all, he would. Even those he had appointed, though they were his friends. They would understand why he was disbanding the cabinet. Hell, they were the ones who heard him complain about it for so long that they would probably want it disbanded for the sole purpose of never having to hear him complain about it again. But he had already made too many changes. Too much social reform. And his most annoying of advisors liked to remind him that between the restricting of child labor (how had anyone opposed him on that?!) and the reform of poor laws (once again, how was helping poor people a bad thing?)—the abolishment of slavery in most of the colonies was going to be the final nail in his political coffin, and that he needed them to appease his supporting elite.

It might be the truth, but that did not mean he had to like them. In fact, as he had reminded the most boring and uptight of his advisors over and over again, they got one minute to capture his attention, and if they did not have it after that, he was not going to bother listening to their (always ridiculously) long rambles about policy and other minutiae. Hell, it would not be his fault if he ended up sleeping right through whatever they were saying. That was their fault. Not his.

Speaking of boring and uptight advisors… Reginald, a sniveling ass kisser of a man he had inherited from his brother's cabinet, stood up in the council room, where William was subjected to listening as he gave a report on…something. Something boring, that was for sure. If there were ever a man who could make the most interesting subjects boring, it was Reginald. William would sometimes wonder what this man was like with his wife behind closed doors? He could just imagine him being as polite and boring as possible, coming, then thanking her for her service to him and to England, before bowing and leaving. That thought had William smiling, shaking his head, and eyeing the man.

Reginald—well, he simply did not look well. His knuckles were holding the paper he was reading from so tightly they were white, and sweat beaded his forehead. William considered sickness, but the rest of the man was so white, that William surmised he was nervous. Nervous about…well, something. Well now William had to tune back in, to see just what Reginald was saying, to see what had the man acting so nervously. If nothing else, it would give him fuel to his later rants about the man.

"…The Russian empire…"

And William was done listening to Reginald. Why did it always come back to the Russian empire?! Blast it to seven hells, had they not fought them enough times as it was? How many more times did they have to fight them on the battlefield to prove the superiority of their army and navy? There might be more Russians, but they were all freezing and starving due to how the Tsar and his family treated them. Even William knew that a ship full of men well fed and satiated would always fight better than those starved and cold.

"In Russia, the Tsar…"

Russia!

What a thorn in his side they had been for the last seven years. Not so much the Tsar or the bigger, useless son—but that small one. He was a cunning one, William would give him that, but he was vicious and bloodthirsty. William felt like he had personally lost every time the Tsesarevich gained even a hint of a victory. When the Tsesarevich won, humanity lost. William had met plenty of men like him through his time as a Sailor. Cruel fighters who cared not who they killed, how many lives were lost to obtain whatever they were fighting for—and that was William's idea of someone who needed to be stopped. The Tsesarevich was the worst kind of bloodthirsty fighter—one born into power. One that would take every last citizen in their country, and toss their life aside to ensure the Tsesarevich had more and more power.

But William was getting older by the minute, and he was tired of thinking about Russia and the horrors there. William wanted this meeting to be done, and so he let his thoughts wander again as Reginald droned on and on. He was contemplating a nap, when tea was placed before him, shaking him from his reverie. William made sure he thanked the footman as he placed the warm brew down, always excited and ready to drink tea as any good Englishman should be. William was surprised the footman did not say anything, so William turned to look at him, the man nodding at him. William did not recognize the man as he moved away, though this was nothing new as William did not recognize those closest to him sometimes. A byproduct of his age, he had been told. Bah! It was frustrating to be reminded of the limitations of his age at times like this as he watched the man leave to go retrieve some more tea for the rest of the cabinet. He looked familiar…yet William could not place him. Odd.

William heaved a sigh, lifting up his tea, and caught the eye of Harry, one of the only advisors William trusted and liked. Harry winked back at William, rolling his eyes at Reginald as his voice shook as he spoke, droning on and on. Harry and William both smirked at this, before they raised their tea glasses in mock salute, and Harry took a large swallow of his tea, William taking only a tentative sip. Another byproduct of age—caution. William had learned from years of drinking tea that he did not want to burn his mouth on piping hot tea as it would mean hours of not being able to swallow anything later. Food was one of the only pleasures he was allowed, and dammit, he wanted to taste everything. So a tiny sip was all he would take, until the tea cooled. Still, the sip was warm as it traveled to his belly, giving William a tremendous sense of contentment. Ah tea! Was there anything better than that for an old man such as himself?

William's eyes drew across the crowded round table, looking specifically at the men he trusted the most, making sure they were as bored as he was, though he noticed something odd as he did so. Why did only some of his men have tea, and why were they so sporadically set across his cabinet? How were these footmen serving the men? Had it always been as odd as—

Wait.

Why was it that those with tea were Harry, his favorite, as well as Martin, Lewis, Theodore and—

William felt something cold slither down his spine as he realized that the only people with tea were those that William liked and respected—his closest men, those that William would trust with life. William looked down into his own tea, and felt a growing sense of unease as something hit him. William turned to frown at the room, wondering if it was just his imagination or had that tea gone down fierier than it should have. He looked back for the footman who had served him desperate to see his face one last time, but he was gone. If only he could recognize him, William was sure this would all make sense!

Harry noticed the panic that must have been written on William's face as, his eyebrow lifting in question—before Harry started to cough. Just an impolite little hack to start, but one that Harry could not control. William's eyes grew wide as the cough grew more voracious, more hearty, sounding more wet as Harry's hand came up to cover his mouth, his handkerchief staining quickly with the bile he was coughing up. Harry tried to apologize through the coughing as he stood, turning to leave, but he only made it far enough to collapse. He landed flat and prostrate, with a large _thump_ on the table before him as his body shook with the racking cough he had, the bile turning red as blood gushed from his mouth, staining the table, the floor, everything around him as William's eyes grew large with fear. That fear turned into a fist in his stomach, as Harry's coughs finally stopped, his bodying stilling completely. There was a moment of absolute stillness and silence as everyone looked at Harry, before the whole room was thrown into an absolute panic that had everyone either scurrying to help Harry or rushing away from him.

William relied upon his old sailor's training and stood, trying to shout out a warning, "The tea! Don't drink the tea!"

But it was too late.

Harry was first to start coughing, but soon everyone who had imbibed the tea fell victim to it, polite coughs that soon had them seizing and convulsing in their chairs, on the ground, on the table in front of them, before they too stilled, blood pooled around them. William watched with horror as those he trusted the most fell, and felt a growing sense of dread as he felt his throat tickle, his own cough starting and he turned to look at those who had not moved from their seats, who only coolly watched as those around him fell victim to whatever had been in the tea, his voice croaked and ragged as he only asked, "What… (cough, cough) why?"

Reginald, the sniveling rat of a man who William should have stamped out when he had had the chance to, only turned to the door behind him, opening it. William watched as he lost control of his ability to breathe, gasping for air even as he could not stop coughing, feeling anger war with his impending sense of doom as through the door strode the small figure of a man William recognized instantaneously. The small, smiling lizard like man smiled as he entered the room, followed by about twenty or so men, including the man who had served the tea, all of them looking ready for a fight as the Tsesarevich stepped into the center of the room.

William used his last breath to gasp out, "Frieza! You'll (cough gasp)…never (cough cough)…get (gasp gasp)…away with—."

William was not able to get the last word out as Frieza strode over to him, and grabbed his head in both hands, bringing their faces close together, whispering with that chilling high pitched voice of his, "But I already have."

There was a twist, a snap, a pop, and William was gone.

As William's neck was snapped, the lifeless body of the king dropping to the ground, some of the advisors who had been on the fence with this coup flew into a panic, not totally unexpected, but predictable and boring to Frieza as he heard them screaming, scrambling to get out of the room. Frieza only motioned with his hand, and his men were behind them, their indecision their death sentence. Frieza turned away from the carnage, feeling his blood boiling in his veins as it pumped through him, releasing more endorphins and adrenaline as he simply stood there. He was here. He was finally here, in the cabinet room of the king, knowing that while the fight was not over yet, he had done it.

He had assassinated the king.

Today…today was finally the day they had been planning for months—Zarbon had not led him astray by making him wait. There were so many cogs that had to fall into place, and today they did. He had never expected this to be as easy as it was to stroll into the House of Lords or to have access to the king to carry out their plan. Frieza had made it unconditionally known that the King's death was to be at Frieza's hand, and no one else's—even that had not been taken from him. Frieza flexed his hands, looking at them, smiling at no one but himself as he relieved the moment he had felt the former King's life slip from his body. Frieza closed his eyes as a shiver worked his way through his body, whispering, "Delicious, utterly delicious."

Frieza then turned back to the room, knowing a demented smile would be painted on his face. It did not matter—in fact it was what he was going for. He wanted these men to know he was every bit as horrible as the rumors about him said he was. He took a second and allowed himself a moment to bask in the glory of a plan well accomplished— before he heaved a sigh, knowing that the fight was just starting, as the Royal Guard and Secret Service had yet to show their faces. But Frieza had not come unprepared. If the guard was foolish enough to think these were all the men he had had with him…well they had another thing coming. An advantage of waiting for so long was just how easy it was to sneak in Russian soldiers and spies over the last few months.

A slight frown did cross Frieza's face for a second when he realized that Zarbon, who had been so instrumental to this plan was not there to see it come to fruition. The man had his own side mission to take care of, and while he had not been Frieza's first choice to do this side mission, Zarbon had practically begged for it. How could Frieza say no to the man who had made today possible?

Frieza then forced himself to focus on the men before him, who stared at him, waiting to know what would happen next. Idiots. Frieza knew what was going to happen next—as soon as he sent his servant to give word that Frieza was in the castle, the Royal guard and secret service would show up, ready to start a war. And Frieza would be ready for them—with the help of the boat of primed Russian soldiers waiting for his signal at the Thames. The second his first plan did not work, and he was forced into open warfare, he would be ready. Oh yes. He would be ready.

Frieza waited until there was a general quiet in the room, before he turned back to the room, glad to see a large group of the advisors still alive and kicking. They were now his pawns, and he needed to show them what would happen if they ever decided to disobey him. Frieza slowly walked up to Reginald, a small smile on his face. He heard Dodoria snort as he passed him, recognizing that smile, yet Frieza did not stop to acknowledge him as he said, "Good show, Reginald."

Reginald, ever the sycophant, fell into a deep bow instantaneously, "Of course my liege."

Frieza walked past him, his hands behind his back as he strolled the room, knowing every eye was on him, forcing himself to keep his face as impassive as possible. "You have been a tremendous help in gaining me the support I needed from those in this room. Thank you."

Reginald's voice sounded pleased with himself, bringing another chilling smile to Frieza's face as he only said, "Of course, your highness."

Frieza felt that same adrenaline from earlier kick back up, the blood lust that was always in his soul crowing to be released as he heard how self-satisfied Reginald sounded. Frieza forced himself to wipe the smile from this face before he finally turned back to look at Reginald, frowning, "Yes, you were rather eager to betray your king and turn to my side, were you not?"

Frieza could see the moment that Reginald realized he was not on sturdy ground. His face froze, before falling, Reginald's head bowing in a show of respect as he started to creep backwards, towards the door behind him. Still, he did not run, only defending himself to Frieza. The fool. He should have run.

"He was a boar of a man, who thought that those lower than us deserved the same rights as us."

Frieza let out a small chilling chuckle, as he strode back to Reginald, "Of course. The last thing we want is those that don't deserve it, to have power…."

Frieza let his words trail off, and Reginald gulped, his voice a whisper as he said, "Of course."

Frieza turned his back to Reginald, practically feeling the man heave a sigh of relief as he repeated, "Of course."

But Frieza did not go far, knowing every eye in the room was trained on him, as he continued, "Still…you did turn to my side alarmingly quick. Were you not following the gossip of your wife to betray your king? No real proof, just some gossip that you were about to lose power? How am I to know you won't do the same to me? That you won't believe any idle gossip that comes your way, and that you won't try and turn against me?"

Frieza did not need to turn to know that Reginald froze, his voice panicked as he stuttered out, "Of—of course not! I would never b-b-betray you!"

Frieza turned quickly, facing him as he grabbed Reginald's throat, the custom made metal nails he had filed to razor-sharp points drawing rosy blood against Reginald's white throat as soon as they touched his flesh. Frieza's smirk was in place as he slowly said, "No. You won't," before he clenched the metal nails into the soft flesh further, a gurgle the only sound Reginald made before Frieza proceeded to rip the man's throat from his body. Frieza watched, almost impassively as Reginald's body slumped before him, the thrill of having ended another life running its way through his already extremely worked up body. It did not matter if it was his first kill, or his five hundredth—nothing got his blood pumping as much as knowing he had ended another man's life.

There were less gasps this time from the peanut gallery (it seemed no one had liked poor Reginald), but Frieza made sure to turn and display the ripped out throat to the other's before tossing it to the side as if it were nothing more than paper, wiping the metal nails on a handkerchief one of his minions had waiting for him. His voice was slow, thoughtful and full of conviction as he warned the men before him, "Reginald got off easy. If I ever really did think any of you would betray me, I would make your death much slower and much more painful than what Reginald had to endure. Do not even think of crossing me, or you will envy how Reginald got off. You all have a role to play in the upcoming few hours, and I need to know that you will do exactly as I say, without a moment's hesitation. When all is said and done, and I am the new rightful King of the United Kingdom, you will all be rewarded." He paused, taking a deep breath before he continued, "Do I make myself clear?"

There was terror written on each and every face of the surviving cabinet, but Frieza felt triumph as he saw them slowly but surely start to nod their assent. Frieza knew that while the fight was far from over, a large victory had just been won. It was not quite time for open warfare, and a political chess match was about to start. A political chess match that he needed pawns for—and now he had them.

Frieza felt a delicious smile pull at his face, as he nodded, before clapping his hands getting back to business, "Good! Now enough of that boring stuff, we have better things to discuss. If someone would be so good as to go and alert the guard outside this room that I am holding the King hostage, that would be superb…."

* * *

><p>AN: Vegeta no! Where are you going?! Frieza is right there! RIGHT THERE!

Also, the return of Frieza. I have to admit I was sorely tempted to make him an even bigger part of the story simply because he is so deliciously fun to write for. Who else can you just write with evil abandon?

Thanks again for reading you guys—stay tuned for next time!


	39. From Silent Bear to Hell Hath No Fury

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…more Tien!

Warnings: Cussing. Foul mouthed sailor that I am.

A/N: I'm not dead yet! Not that life hasn't tried throwing some crap my way—I will always come back to finish this story up. Slowly but surely guys. Thank you to anyone who has read from the beginning, or found this story today. Seriously—I love you all. Your reviews and likes mean the world to me. Also, this chapter is partially unbetaed, so take it easy on the grammatical errors. Those are all me.

Lilpumpkingirl, thank you for making this chapter easier to swallow, I love you and your advice.

Finally, last time I forgot to give a shout out to theanyanka. I can't believe I forgot you and your support. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

Chapter Thirty-Eight: From Silent Bear to Hell Hath No Fury

He was strong. Always had been. Since the day he had been born with the name Pi'colo, meaning silent bear among his Abenaki people, the tribal family had praised his parents for breeding such a stout and hearty, yet stoic, baby. The praise only grew to ravenous awe the day he had had his first tussle. It was no small deed thrashing three kids four years older than he was. The tribe praised him for using only his knuckles, for walking away with a bloody lip, while the three older boys had had to drink sleeping potion for three days straight so they could not feel their injuries.

His strength went beyond his ability to fight though—when Piccolo had heard about the three boys needing the sleeping potion he had gone into the forest himself to bring the boys' families the essential herbs for the potent medicine. He had bowed his head as he had presented them, giving his apologies in the old tongue of his tribe, eschewing the popular (and necessary to trade) French to show how truly sorry he was. He had told the families it would be his honor to sit with all three boys until they felt better, tending to their wounds, and caring for them. If there was one thing Piccolo had understood from a very young age it was that while his tribe was built upon individual strong warriors like his father, the true strength of his people came from their community and how much they all cared for one another.

Piccolo's strength of character had been greeted with surprise from the tribe. It was expected for Piccolo to be physically strong. He had been born of superior stock, from the seed of the strongest warrior in a tribe of renowned warriors. The oldest son, he had been raised to fight since he could make a fist. But the week Piccolo had sat with those injured boys, fetching them food and water, Piccolo had shown the whole tribe that his strength was not something he was going to use to be a tyrant—he was going to use it for the good of his people. He would not only fight, but fight for what was right. To do what was best for his people.

That was the week that Piccolo's uncle, the elderly tribe chief Kami, had picked him to be his personal protégé. Piccolo, through both blood and his known moral character and physical prowess, had been groomed to be the next tribe chief. So Piccolo had trained with the best, had meditated with the leaders, and had sat in on the many meetings Kami sat through. He sat through grievances from other tribe members hearing how his uncle settled small disputes such as what family could grow crops where, when the harvest festival should be held, what deities should be worshipped that week, to larger meetings between all of the tribes on how to proceed with those from Europe—every meeting a chief might have to go through, Piccolo was there. He learned what it meant to be a true leader, to give personal sacrifice, and to live an austere life-style, like his uncle, so that the tribe could prosper. He learned it was important for a man to be skilled and courageous in battle, but wise and fair while listening to others.

When he was still a child, Kami would ask for Piccolo's opinion's on disputes between tribe members, and would always listen to exactly what Piccolo had to say, a faint gleam in his eyes the only approval that was ever shown. Piccolo knew that Kami had trusted him…but still. There always came a time in meetings where Piccolo was asked to leave, when he was dismissed with a nod. Even as Kami's obvious successor, Piccolo had not been trusted with everything. Piccolo had found no offense in this—he knew that trust, like respect, was something that took hard work to earn, and was not just something that was freely given out.

It did not bother him, truly it did not—but his father, Piccolo Sr. on the other hand, had been displeased at this. Piccolo Sr. had never been invited to tribe meetings though he was the strongest warrior the tribe had, as he was known as a man who craved power amongst all things. Many had feared Piccolo would be just like his father, as a family full of strong men could tip the precarious balance in their tribes collective style of living. The Abenaki were a people that survived because they all worked together, they shared their crops, they fought together, and they shared goods and services. Everyone was a family member, not just a tribesman or neighbor—yet Piccolo Sr. had always bristled against this. He thought since he was the strongest he deserved more.

And he was going to use his son to get that 'deserved' more, many feared.

Piccolo had been allowed, once a week, to leave Kami's side, to return home to share a meal with his father, his brothers and his mother. This was the one time a week Piccolo did not have to act like the future chief, and for a twelve year old boy it had been a much needed relief. He could play with his younger brothers, still a boy, and spar for fun—not being watching and judged at all times. But the older that Piccolo had gotten, the…well, odder, dinners had grown. Piccolo was not a fool, and he knew that his father lusted for more power than he was given—and Piccolo was afraid he was using Piccolo as some sort of unwilling and unknowing spy to gain this power.

The family dinners would begin in a loving way, and right when everyone had been laughing about something, some story of Piccolo Sr. and Kami as children, his father would quite abruptly changed topics, looking at his namesake and oldest with an intensity in his eyes that betrayed the forced ease in his voice. "So what does my dear brother think of the latest treaty the French are extending to us?"

Piccolo felt that odd uneasiness that always built inside of him at moments like this. He always felt like he was betraying his father if he did not answer, and he felt like he was betraying the tribe if he did. Kami had brought him into these meetings in confidence, but Kami had always taught him to respect his elders. Piccolo wondered, not for the first time, what happened when those two wishes were in opposition with each other, and which he was supposed to choose.

Piccolo thankfully did not have an answer to his father's probing on the new treaty, his whole body relaxing as he answered honestly, "I know not, father. I was asked to leave before they spoke of it."

Piccolo's father had frozen, the whole room seeming to freeze with him. Piccolo's mother had moved with a speed that only came with familiarity of the situation, standing and ushering Piccolo's younger brothers out of the room, leaving the two oldest males alone. Even then Piccolo Sr. had not spoken for a few moments, instead leveling his eyes at his son, the future tribe leader, as his arms had crossed. His voice was as chilled as the icy grasp of death itself as he spoke, Piccolo's inside clenching in fear, though he showed not an ounce of it on his young face, "My brother dares insults my family by asking you to sit with him, and not to trust you with any of his secrets?"

Piccolo foolishly tried to answer back, "Father, uncle trusts me as much as he should—"

But his father rolled over him as if he had never spoken, "Does he know how much we sacrifice as a family to have you as his protégé, rather than here, helping your own family? Does he know how much harder I work than anyone else in this village?! How much our family has sacrificed for my goody two shoes brother to be the chief in this village?! How dare he!"

Piccolo felt ashamed, ashamed of what his father was complaining about, and then ashamed of himself for even daring to feel shame for his elder, his father. Piccolo reminded himself, as his father often did, how hard it must have been for Piccolo Sr., to see his older twin brother be chosen from a very young age to be the village leader, while he was dismissed as the fighter of the pair because of his 'temper.'

Piccolo had tried his whole life to keep the balance between respect owed to his father and respect owed to his whole tribe level, but finally, after a night of too much questioning, of shame felt upon his father's words of not caring enough about the family, Piccolo had caved to his father's wishes. He had come to Kami the morning after the family dinner, and when his uncle had asked him how dinner had been, Piccolo had worked up his courage and asked, "Uncle, if I am to be the future leader of this tribe, why do you not allow me to sit in on all meetings?"

Kami had frozen, much like his twin brother had the night before—but the coldness was not there, the ice numbing fear that Piccolo Sr. could project replaced by…was that sadness? Kami's voice had been soft as usual when it came out, but there was a pitying note there as he dismissed his serving man, "Leave us, Mr. Popo." The serving man had bowed obediently, only giving Piccolo a passing look as he left. When he was gone, Kami had turned his eyes on Piccolo, and the two had been in a staring stalemate for a few moments before Kami softly asked, "Why do you ask to sit in on all of the meetings?"

Piccolo was flabbergasted by the question—he had no answer for the chief, and Kami could read it on his face. Kami sighed and folded his hands on his staff as he surveyed his nephew. Kami pressed harder when he asked his next question, "Do you ask for your father?"

Piccolo considered lying, but then he realized this went against everything Kami taught him, and he would not insult his master in such a way. So instead he simply nodded, feeling that shame, again, for betraying his father.

Kami sighed, shaking his head as he turned away, staring out of the tent flap, "Oh Piccolo, I had hoped we would never have to have this conversation, that we would never have to speak like this, but I see that my hope was foolish." He turned back to Piccolo, "I honestly wished you would have been a horrible pupil from the beginning, so that I could dismiss you right away. Instead my very fears were realized when I saw the greatness within you, the greatness to be a great leader"

Piccolo felt a small dusting of anger sweep through him at this moment, the compliment not heard as he took in the insult, but his face, his whole being, betrayed nothing as usual.

Still, Kami—as always—noticed, and he shook his head with an amused look on his face. "Do not misunderstand me. It was for your sake that I hoped this, Piccolo."

There was a silence, a long one, Kami looking at Piccolo expectantly, as if that last sentence had explained everything to Piccolo. It had not. "I…I don't understand."

Kami's amusement turned sad again, his hands grasping his staff a little tighter as he shook his head, "I should not expect you to. Not yet." Kami waved Piccolo closer, and he obeyed, Kami placing his hand on Piccolo's shoulder as he said, "Your father, my brother…he is a good man. But he does not have the spiritual center that former elders saw in me, that I see in you—he does not understand the need of the many over the one. You do, I know you do. I have seen the choices you have made, have seen how quickly you learn. This is a great gift Piccolo, and one that your father is jealous of. He has always been jealous that I have the gift, and I saw that same jealousy in his eyes when he saw what a formidable character you had."

Piccolo felt ignominy, once again, as understanding dawned on him. All of his father's snide remarks to his own twin brother, to Piccolo, especially once he had started training, came back to him. All of the times his father had complained about sharing the family's food with villagers who had not had as lucky of as a crop as their family, all of those time Piccolo's father had chosen to stay home and sleep rather than attend the village ceremonies, or took advantage of being the chiefs brother to 'negotiate' (or bully) into better prices for their family. Piccolo felt embarrassment on his father's behalf, and as usual felt shame for feeling this way towards his father.

Kami regarded him with kind eyes as his hand squeezed Piccolo's shoulder again. "Boy you have a hard future ahead of you, but I would not have picked you, or continued to train you if I had not felt like you could handle it." Still Kami's eyes drew far-off, his hand clenching further as he said, "There will come a time when your father will demand that you respect him above the tribe, that you put his needs above everyone else's…and that is a choice I do not envy."

Piccolo had yearned for more information, yearning to ask the question of who came first, the goods of the many or the good of the elders—but he stayed silent, hoping that the point never came where he would have to choose.

But life had decided that it was to be his fate to have to choose, and he remembered Kami's face as Piccolo and his father had left their village, as Piccolo had chosen his father, the elder, over the village.

Piccolo had thought about that conversation almost every day since he had left the village, and now, he hoped, he prayed, that when he got back Kami would take him back, bring him back under his wing. Piccolo was tired, both physically and mentally, and at the point where he was ready to throw in the towel and head back to Canada. Piccolo wanted to go back. Even if it meant…well, his tribe had not banished him. They had banished his father, and Piccolo was weary of waiting for his increasingly more alcohol soaked father to direct him in what to do next.

Especially as it had been over a week since he had presented his father with the information on where Goku was, a week since his father had looked him in the eyes and went, "Good. Now you wait for my mark in the next few days, and we attack him. He will pay." A few days had come and gone, and when Piccolo had confronted his father again, asking when, his father had been bleary eyed and shaking as he told him in a whisper of the voice he used to have, "Just a few days more. The timing needs to be just perfect…."

Piccolo had waited for his father to elaborate, for Piccolo Sr. to finally reveal the plan to him or tell him why the timing had to be perfect, as he had always been quite vague on what exactly their revenge would be—but nothing had been forthcoming. Instead his father had done what he had done increasingly of late, reaching for a half filled bottle that sat at his nightstand, and drinking it with such alacrity, Piccolo's own stomach had turned. The shaking hands had stilled as the alcohol had rinsed through his system, and Piccolo had had to leave the room, anger and shame warring within him. The shakes had scared Piccolo when they had first occurred in his father, but he had paid for a doctor to come see his father when they had first happened, and the man had scoffed, taking all of Piccolo's pay as he had told him, "He's an alcoholic, boy. Tell the old fool to stop drinking if he wants the shaking to cease and to not drink himself into an early grave—but then, men like him often don't." The doctor had seen Piccolo's face, and his tone became softer as he had sighed, "If he will not stop drinking then keep a steady supply of alcohol on hand for him and the tremors will abide in the very least."

Piccolo had been waiting for his father to rise from his gin and rum induced stupor for what felt like years now, asking almost daily for what the plan would be—and nothing. Well Piccolo was tired, and he was done waiting. They had traveled halfway around the globe, they had been kicked out of their tribe, and they had bided their time in this city for almost half a year. Piccolo found himself, more and more increasingly, longing for the solitude of the forests of Canada, the counsel of his wise uncle, for the comfort of the rest of their tribe. He would beg on his father's behalf, call on the bond of family, and he would get his father help. Because whatever his father's plan was not worth waiting for this long….

But he had not acted on these desires, not yet. Out of deference to the respect he owed his father. He was the man who had raised him, the man who had given him his very life. So no matter how tired and weary Piccolo grew with their English life, he knew he would continue waiting. But that tenuous string called respect that he felt he still owed his father was growing more and more drawn out, more frayed, and Piccolo honestly did not know how much longer he had it in him to continue to bide his time and wait. He had turned his back on the whole of his village, for all of the responsibilities he had shouldered as Kami had grown older, and he was finding it harder day in and day out to tell himself that had been the right move.

Piccolo sighed as he finally finished the walk from the docks to where he lived now, as he drew up to the blue building, where they had been renting rooms, he fought the urge he had to head to Jackson's. He knew that Vegeta would not be there for a fight, but Piccolo, despite his weariness, always thought (and felt) better when he worked on his fighting form and physical movements. Perhaps some Tai Chi would do him good? Stretch his tired muscles out, and allow his brain to function at more than the half speed he felt like it had been operating at of late? Maybe then he could find a way to get his father away from that foul drink, so they could finally accomplish what they had set out to do when they had found out Goku was coming to England. Piccolo wondered if they should have taken the chance when they had been tailing Goku in New York State, but the opportunity had never really presented itself.

Piccolo heaved another weary sigh as he faced the door that led up to their rooms, his hand on it, ready to push—when something in his back tensed, alerting him to the fact that he was not alone. He was not sure what it was—call it fighting instincts, call it intuition, but something sparked in his tired brain, putting all of his senses on alert. He did not have to turn around to know someone was behind him—he could sense his or her very presence.

Piccolo slowly lowered his hand, his whole body ready to fight as he surreptitiously turned his neck to look over his shoulder. His eyes grew wide as he recognized the men standing behind him, Piccolo's mind going into overdrive at what they were doing here.

A refined, polished voice cordially caught his attention, "Piccolo."

Piccolo felt his heart stop beating for a moment, before going into double time, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he saw Vegetasei standing behind him with that large goon of his right next to him, both of them wearing malicious smirks as he turned to face them. Those smirks, more so than how they were standing, or anything else about their physical presence, alerted him to the fact that they were not here for a friendly visit. Piccolo cursed himself, cursed his father for waiting so long—he should have known the Duke would figure out what Piccolo's true purpose in England was. "How did you find me?"

Vegetasei cocked his head to the side, studying the man, "Does it matter?"

Piccolo thought about it, knowing that he had not been particularly stealthy, what with having to work a normal job to support his father and himself, and he shook his head, "No, I guess it does not." Piccolo took a deep breath, deciding to tempt fate, to see if he was worrying himself for no reason. "Are you here because I have not been going to Jackson's?"

Vegetasei snorted, the goon behind him letting out a bark of a laugh that drew some stares of those on the street. Piccolo's head swiveled, taking in all of the innocents (witnesses) who were watching the Duke and Nappa with curiosity, realizing how out in the open they were. Piccolo frowned, but his forehead cleared when Vegeta spoke, his voice low and threatening as he explained, "You know why I am here. Did you think I would not find out?"

Piccolo felt his worst fears confirmed, the world crashing down around him as he realized he had waited too long. He should have known that Vegeta, the smart fighter that he was, would have realized that Piccolo was using him, and that the man he innocently sparred with twice a week was a threat to his family. Piccolo, for the first time in memory, cursed his father without shame, knowing that it was his fault hey had waited too long. Why had his father not told him the plan? Why had they not avenged his brothers and mother—and left this place months ago? Piccolo, was not given much time to think past that, though, as Nappa had come up, wrapping his hand around Piccolo's forearm, steering (or dragging) him away from his door, and into the darkened alley by the building.

Piccolo felt relief course through him—his father was safe. He worried less about himself—he had taken a lot of pain, trained his body to withstand as much as it physically could—but his father was feeble, and vulnerable right now, and Piccolo needed to protect him. No matter how angry he was with him. Nappa waited until they were hidden by some shadows, away from the prying eyes of the street, before turning Piccolo so his back was to the brute's front, Nappa's large arms wrapping under his arms, locking him, holding him as Vegetasei slowly followed them into the alley.

Piccolo watched with interest, already priming his body for the hurt that was about to come to him, as Vegetasei stripped his jacked off, undoing his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up before catching Piccolo's eyes, "Now I have some questions to ask, and you are going to answer them."

Piccolo felt his pride swell up, his mind whirring into overtime as he tried to figure out how to get out of this situation, at the same time as he detached himself from his body, knowing that the Duke would not go easy on him, now that he knew the truth. "I will tell you nothing."

The Duke gave him a cold stare, before a chilling smile spread across his face as he softly said, "Oh good. I was hoping you would be difficult."

* * *

><p>Bulma was angry. She was angry, and sad, and scared, and a million other emotions. And was she allowed to act on any of these emotions? No! She had been escorted to Vegeta's secret office, and here she sat, her arms wrapped around the curve of her stomach, as if cradling the child within, waiting like a Kami-damned damsel in fucking distress. Bulma was no fucking damsel in fucking distress. That was for fucking sure. And yet….<p>

She had not run after Vegeta, she had not even tried to trail him as he left her in the secret office—something in his face, in his curt goodbye, where his eyes lingered on her far longer than they ever had before had stopped her and her millions of plans to go with him. His last words echoed in her head, even as her thoughts traveled a million miles in each direction, _Be safe Bulma. Take care of our child. I will always…the time we had together…I must leave._ And that had been it. He had been gone.

But those strained silences where he tried to think of the words to say—they had been telling to Bulma. Vegeta was not someone who said his feelings—you had to watch him, and read his actions. The fact that he was trying to tell her something before he left, well, it did not bode well.

_Oh Vegeta, just what have you gotten yourself into?_

He was all she could think about as her eyes swiveled about the articles, pictures, and other curios Vegeta had pinned up to the large board that dominated her view. She searched every bit of information in front of her, every bit of knowledge she had gleaned in her time as a spy (and a spy's wife) willing herself to think, to just use that large brain of hers to figure out what was going on. She knew she needed to figure out a way she could help, to figure out a way to stop what she feared what her husband saw as the inevitable. But she could not. All she could do was sit in Vegeta's chair, smelling Vegeta with every inhalation of breath, his last words echoing to her in her head, pushing all rational thought out of her head as she sat there, anger warring within her as she realized how…how…useless she felt. She knew she was pregnant and she knew the health of the child came before even her—but still.

Bulma was a doer, and this damsel in distress stuff was not working for her. Being told to sit and wait—it was the equivalent of being thrown in prison for her. Speaking of prison….She could swear the walls were closing in on her as she sat here, not working, not moving, so she forced herself to focus, focus on the wall in front of her, willing it to divulge all of its secrets to her. She was surprised that Vegeta had not actually locked her in here earlier. She took that as a sign that he actually cared—or that he knew her well enough to know she would not risk their child's health to chase after him. Bastard!

Bulma felt rage sweep through her again, bubbling up, pushing on her chest, constricting her breathing, but she bit it down, forcing herself to think. _Come on Bulma…use that giant brain of yours!_

But it would have been easier at that moment to will herself to China than to clear her muddled thoughts.

Bulma moved for the first time in what felt like decades (but was surely only minutes) as she heard the Ducal office's door open, Goku's voice drawing her in as he spoke in the outer office, "Bulma, Bulma, where are you? Are you in here?"

Bulma forgot she was in a secret office, uncaring of how she gave away its secret as she flung the inner office door open, all but leaping into her brother's arms as she called his name. Goku, being the world's best brother, opened his arms to her, allowing her a moment to sink into him and his familiar warmth. Goodness she did not realize how much she needed him until his arms closed around her, giving her a moment to abandon all thoughts to the comfort of being squeezed in Goku's strong arms. But all too quickly reality hit home, and she pulled back, grabbing her brothers arms and shaking him (well trying to at least). "What do you know? Where is he? Kami-dammit Goku! What is happening?" Not for the first time did Bulma wish she had at least been taller than Goku—she used to be able to intimidate him with just her height. Hah! Long gone were those days, to say the least….

Goku shook his head confirming that he was just as lost as she was, holding his arms open in honest supplication. "I don't know, Bulma. I mean, I know Vegeta is gone… I wish I knew where but…." Goku took a deep breath, his arms crossing in front of him, his eyes burning with determination she recognized as what she called 'Goku is serious as shit' face. "Bulma, what is going on with Vegeta, with you? All I got was a letter from Vegeta saying it was his time, and that he needed me to watch you, to take care of you, to protect you. What is it time for? Do you know Bulma?"

Bulma was not quite done ranting and raving, and since her brother was the only human in area (the dowager was there, but Bulma was now completely sure that woman was not at all human) she wanted to keep ranting and raving at him. But now was not the time—even in her most emotional of states, Bulma knew when to hold a good temper tantrum in. So Bulma switched to scientist mode, all business as she asked him, "How much do you know about Vegeta's job with the government?"

Goku cocked his head to one side, looking confused and slightly like a puppy dog the 'Goku is serious as shit' face gone as quickly as it had come. "Vegeta has a job with the government?"

Bulma sighed, running her hands through her hair, realizing this was a welcome distraction from her constantly shifting thoughts as she muttered, "Sit down, I have some explaining to do…."

As Bulma explained to Goku everything about Vegeta as a spy, telling him how she had found out, how she had even helped him, how she had really broken her ankle—she gave her brother credit. He did not ask stupid questions, just letting her speak, his face growing more and more serious as she explained to him everything about Frieza and Zhelonie and Russia that she knew. He waited until she took a breath before he finally spoke, "So you think this has something to do with Frieza finally making his move? That Vegeta thinks he might have figured something about Zhelonie or Frieza's plan out?"

Bulma nodded, watching her brother process all of the information she had just told him. People mistook Goku's genial nature for stupidity, and often commented he had never inherited the Briefs' brains—but they had never seen this side of Goku. If he had been more vicious, he would have been an amazingly tactile and strong general—battle was where he belonged, and this kind of thinking was what he did best. He turned to pace the room, Bulma knowing that Goku was like a shark who needed to keep moving lest he die, seeing the wheels crank in his head as he thought about the situation in front of them.

Some thought, some bubble Bulma had been trying to ignore, but could not, especially as she laid everything out to Goku, pushed out at the moment Goku turned for the fifth time and she admitted to himself (and herself as well), "I am not worried that this is Frieza finally attacking. I mean I am worried as he's a bloodthirsty tyrant, it's just that…it's that." She forced herself to stop for a second, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes as she blew out a long breath, before she opened them, continuing, "…Goku, I don't think Vegeta intends to live." There had been a split second where she had almost said she thought Vegeta was going to _die_—but saying that word out loud gave it to much power. So she had chickened out.

Goku's looked at her fascinated, his eyes widening as he prompted, "Are you sure Bulma?"

Bulma frowned, the words rushing out of her as she put into language what she could not think, "It just…it explains so much about Vegeta. I mean think about it—that's why he had to come to America to get you, why he spends so much time making sure you are ready to take over for him. Why would he do that unless he needed to ensure that he had a successor? It was not just his pride. He is young enough that even if he had not met me he could have married someone and fathered a child—but not if he did not think he had the time left. He knew something big was brewing with Frieza, and I know Vegeta feels more than just a nation-type hate towards the man. It is personal, and I think it all comes down to whatever happened with Tarble in Russia, and Tarble dying."

Goku frowned, his eyebrows shooting up as he blew out a low whistle, "Seriously?"

Bulma tried to speak to say more, but hearing everything out loud—it made it too real. She suddenly found a lump forming in her throat, so she only nodded.

Goku started to pace again, turning to look at her as he reached the far side of the room, "Tell me more about Tarble, and what happened to him. What do you really know about that?"

Bulma sighed, throwing her hands up, frustrated, as she admitted, "Not much." She moved so that she was closer to Goku, her hand resting protectively on her stomach as she explained to him how aggravating her husband could be when it came to telling her the whole truth, "Vegeta has been less than forthcoming, and all I know was what the dowager basically yelled at me when I went to pump her for information." She ran her hands through her hair as she told him, "I know Tarble was killed in the service, and it was in Russia during the war. But I think there is more to Tarble's death than just a simple death…well, death on the battlefield. It would explain why Vegeta does not talk about it, and why he felt the need to lie to me about when Tarble died. I think Tarble's death might explain why Vegeta is heading into this like he is going to die."

Goku, being more attuned to how Vegeta thought as a warrior, perhaps, or maybe just as a fresh set of eyes to this whole situation spoke slowly, his words careful as he said, "Perhaps Tarble's death has given Vegeta a death vendetta he feels the need to carry out. Like he needs to avenge his brother's life, and he knows it will cost him his own life. Especially if he goes after someone as bloodthirsty, ruthless, and important as the crown prince of Russia. It would also explain…." Goku looked up for a second, getting that guilty look he used to get when she caught him sneaking to the kitchen, before he looked away, "Never mind."

Bulma turned to look at Goku, her heart in her throat as she realized he was hiding something. "Goku? What?" He shook his head, his eyes drawing past her as he stared out the window, before Bulma grabbed his arm, shaking it, "What is it? Tell me, please."

Goku swallowed heavily, still not looking at her as he admitted, "I never told you this, but when…well, when we were in Scotland and Vegeta and I were outside…uhm…,"

"Fighting," Bulma supplied for him, willing him to talk faster, wanting to know what he was afraid to tell her.

Goku looked at her, surprised that she could have deduced her husband and brother had fought (as if the bruises and cuts both had been nursing that next morning had not been a huge fucking giveaway), but he continued, "Uh, yeah. Fighting. Well, after we had finished fighting and Vegeta agreed to marry you—well, he made me promise to take care of you."

Bulma was confused as what this had to with what she had been saying, and she could not keep the exasperation out of her voice as she prompted, "So?" She would have assumed that any man would ask that of her brother if they—hold on. Her voice was frantic as she said, "Goku, what else did he say?"

Goku looked right past her again, his cheeks reddening as he admitted, "He told me he would be making you a widow sooner rather than later. That there were some dangerous situations he was going to be putting himself in, and that he would not be making it out of these dangerous situations, well, alive."

Bulma could not help it—she collapsed back into the couch she had been standing in front of. It was one think to posit and hypothesize about her husband, the man she loved, going out on missions that would get him killed, or hell, carrying out some sort of revenge vengeance that would get him killed—but to hear it from Vegeta's own mouth. To know that her husband was indeed planning on dying soon, before their child was even born, to know that her short time with him was about to get cut even shorter—well it knocked it all out of her.

It all began to fall into place, the whole Kami-damned reason Vegeta even came to America in the first place. He thought he was going to die, and soon. Why else would Vegeta act as he had, making it known how important it was that Goku be there to inherit the dukedom from Vegeta, as well as why he had made sure to marry Bulma, in case his heir was not Goku, but his son…a son he might not ever get the chance to see.

Bulma felt anger well in her again as she realized just how crazy the man she married actually was—could he have picked a bigger, homicidal, sociopathic or nastier person to have a personal vendetta against?! What bigger target could he pick but the crown prince of another country?! Especially a man as bloodthirsty as Frieza? Even if Vegeta were able to get close enough to Frieza, and beat him somehow—how would he ever get past the fact that he had killed a monarch of another country? If Vegeta managed to make it out of his suicide mission alive, his head would have a price on it from Russia. _Kami Vegeta, was there seriously no one more dangerous on Earth to have a grudge against? Was Satan too difficult?_

That was it. If he made it out of this alive—she was going to kill him himself. Mother fucking suicidal bastard. If he wanted to die so badly she would gladly relieve him of his life herself. In fact she had to stop her hands from clenching around Goku's neck as a substitute as she turned up to face him. Goku, seeing that fire in her eyes took a step back, his hands up, supplicating. "Easy Bulma."

Goku's words grounded her, bringing her back from the anger that threatened to choke her, and she took a step back as well, covering her eyes with the palms of her hands, pressing as she sighed. Still, she could herself from hissing out through clenched too, "That stupid asshole. That mother fucking stupid asshole. I will kill him for not telling me the truth."

Goku let out a nervous chuckle, but, wisely, let her words fall without picking them up and prodding Bulma with the terminology she had just so venomously spit out at him.

Bulma was gearing up for another attack on her husbands sanity, intelligence, manhood, hell, whatever she could think of when something miraculous happened. For the first time in her pregnancy, Bulma felt a little telltale kick against her upper ribs, a kick that brought Bulma back from the scary place her anger was bringing her. Bulma immediately dropped her hands back to her stomach, looking down at the swell and at the life that she was currently carrying, tears instantly springing into her eyes. The kick made her real pregnancy, well, even realer somehow. She had a child inside of her—and she liked to think they were as angry with their father as she currently was. She saw that kick as a kick of solidarity with Bulma, agreeing that their father was being just plain stupid.

Well it was a good thing Bulma was a genius then—because the time for pouting was over. Vegeta thought he could get away with killing himself with Bulma 'genius extraordinaire' Briefs as his wife? Hah! She would show him—she would save his life, and then she would nag him for the rest of his natural born life, to remind him that no one got away with trying to die on Bulma's watch! Killing him would be too easy of an out. He deserved her on his back for the rest of all time for the pain he was putting her through. Bulma rubbed her stomach as she thought she felt another flutter of movement, as if the baby was agreeing with her.

Okay then. The time for anger was over. It was time for action.

When she looked back up, Goku was eyeing her speculatively, "Are you all right?"

Bulma, despite herself, smiled as she admitted, "The baby just kicked. For the first time. They are as mad at their father as I am. Which is why that rat bastard is not allowed to die." She took another deep breath before she said, " Goku, we are going to save that rat bastard."

Goku recognized that spark in her eyes, and smiled. "Good, because I've been thinking—."

There was a knock on the door at that exact moment, and Bulma bounded over Goku to open the door, hoping it was her husband, but knowing he would never knock. She threw the door open, trying to appear as if nothing was wrong as she smiled at Jeffries as he stood there, holding out a missive for Bulma, "This came for the Duke, your Grace. Can you see that he gets it upon his return?"

Bulma took the note, trying to arrange her face in something that looked like a normal smile (though she was sure it was more of a grimace) as she nodded, "Of course," waiting until Jeffries left to close the door and look at it.

Her mouth went dry as she saw the name on the outside of the letter, and she must have lost all color in her face because Goku simply asked, "Bulma—what is it?"

Bulma took a deep swallow before looking back up, her eyes large as she told him, "It's from Basil." Why would Basil be writing Vegeta, when Vegeta was already out doing his duty? Maybe he had not sent a note to Basil, and Basil had had a similar breakthrough? Bulma tried to move her hands to open it, but suddenly found that her hands were immobile, her mouth dry, and her heart racing again.

Goku saw Bulma's reaction and kindly took the note from her, opening it, but frowned, almost immediately handing it back to her. "I can't make heads or tails of the code Bulma, what does it say?"

Bulma took the note back, translating it as she quickly read the words about flowers and gardening schedules, before grabbing her throat, looking back up at Goku, "It says that it is time. That Frieza launched his attack, and that he needs him at the palace, right now." She took another deep breath before she admitted, "I'm not…I'm not exactly sure, but I think it says that King William is being held hostage."

Goku's eyes grew large again, but Bulma was not done, "Goku, I think Vegeta went to the wrong place this morning. I think he thinks' he had finally discovered who Zhelonie is, but it is all moot because we know where Frieza is. Goku, we need to find him. We need to find Vegeta, and we need to get him this note. He would never forgive himself if he is not there to carry out his revenge."

Goku's mouth opened slightly, before closing again, confusion clearly written on his features, "Wait, did you not just say we were going to save him?"

Bulma stopped for a moment, thinking. It was true, if she led Vegeta to where Frieza was, there was a good chance that Vegeta would not live. But…she loved the man and she knew him well enough to know that if returned, and found out that she had hid this information from him, he would never forgive her. But that did not mean she was going to let him die. Still, she needed Goku to understand since he was such an integral part of her plan.

"Brother, think about it. What if I, or Chi-Chi, or mom or dad, ever stopped you from fighting a fight that would mean finding vindication for losing your brother or me or whoever? I need to let him fight. I need to let him attempt his revenge—but this time, we are making sure he is not alone." She sighed, before looking into his eyes, making sure hers were as large and as pleading as she could make them, "Because you are going to go help him, and make sure he does not die today."

Bulma gave a satisfied nod, and began heading towards the door, ready to run out to find Vegeta with Goku in tow before going to the palace together, but Goku grabbed her arm, shaking his head, "Bulma, whoa, hold up. I promised Vegeta I would wait here with you, wait for you, and protect _you_. Not him."

Bulma set her mouth then, determined, "Goku, what better way to protect me then to ensure my husband makes it home safely? What better way to know that I will be safe, then to know that my mind will be at ease with you there to help Vegeta fight, to protect him, and to stop him from making any ridiculously stupid moves?" Bulma knew her brother, knew how to get him on her side, her eyes large, her lower lip quivering as she said, "Goku, please. Please go out there and save my husband. I need you to find him."

She could see some sort of internal struggle going on with Goku and his inner thoughts, but she knew she won out when he closed his eyes, blowing a large breath out through his nose. Plus, she knew he would never resist a large fight—he was not one to sit here, and if he tried, she would poke and prod him until he felt forced to go out there and fight to blow some steam off. "Fine, where is he? I will go get him. I will watch his back, but Bulma, he will not like it."

Bulma knew that, but if it came between having a dead husband, or an alive one who was pissed at her for not following his orders, she knew which one she would prefer. She threw her arms around Goku, hugging him tightly, "Oh Goku. Thank you so much." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, before she let him go, seeing the red on his cheeks, before she admitted, "I don't, uhm, exactly…I don't exactly know where he is at the moment."

Goku's mouth sagged open again, and he turned his back to her, his muscles visibly tightening in his back as he muttered. Something to do with two people deserving each other's crazy asses. Bulma did not need to guess who he was muttering about. When he turned back to her, Bulma was glad to see his ready to fight someone face was on—Goku was on his primal (Saiyan?) instincts, and that meant something would get done. "Okay, Bulma, this is what we are going to do. You are going to call every able bodied servant you have, and we are going to look for Vegeta."

Bulma jumped up, ready to go, needing to find her husband, needing to help him. "Okay, let me just go get my co—."

Goku cut her off, his face and tone letting her know he was not to be argued with. "You are going nowhere. Absolutely nowhere. You are going to march back into that secret room you just popped out of, and you are not going to leave it until Vegeta or I return. I may be breaking my promise to Vegeta to protect you, but I am sure as hell not bringing you to a warzone." Goku's eyes narrowed, "Bulma, you want me to go protect…fight with Vegeta, fine. I will—but this is my price. You are not to follow me, you are not to leave this very room. I will be posting two of the footmen in front of the outer office to ensure that you will be safe, and you will not move until Vegeta, myself…or hopefully both of us, say so."

She was about to protest, but Goku's eyes softened as he admitted, "Bulma, you're my sister. One of the people I love more in life than anyone else, and I cannot run out of here without ensuring that you will be safe. Vegeta is going to be pissed enough that it is that I am with him and not you—he would straight up kill me if he knew that you were out on the streets of London. He needs to know that you are here and safe. Please, promise me."

Bulma saw the steely resolve in her brother's eyes, reminding her of the way Vegeta had looked at her earlier when he had drawn almost the same exact promise from her, and she frowned, but walked to the bell pull, calling Jeffries in, informing him to gather up any and all of the servants that were here today. They did not waste their time with explanations for the staff, just letting them know that Vegeta needed to be found, and immediately. When he was found, they were to report back to the Viscount, who would be waiting for them at a pub in central London. Goku asked for any servants who had experience with guns, and took two of them, arming them, and posting them in front of the outer office, letting them know that no one but Goku or Vegeta would be entering this office. The servants, Kami bless them, did not even blink, dispersing with alacrity, following orders without a second thought.

Goku waited until they were all gone, ensuring that the two men who were there to protect her were properly at their posts, before turning back to Bulma, grim, "Okay Bulma. I will go find him, and I will save your husband." Bulma nodded, but Goku was not done, raising an arm, pointing to the secret office, "You know what you promised, though."

Bulma frowned at him as adrenaline pumped through her veins, singing out at her to do something other than sit there, but she let out a loud sigh as her final protest as she walked back to the secret doorway, pulling on _Pride and Prejudice. _She waited until the door sprung open, then she turned back to him, her mouth set, her arms crossed, "Bring him back to me Goku. Please, just bring him back to me. And don't die on me either. Chi-Chi would never forgive me."

Goku nodded once, before striding over to her, pulling her in to him for one last hug, "Bulma, I promise to try and bring him home safe. I promise."

Bulma nodded, before resigning herself to her fate as she pulled back from him, and sat back in the chair in the secret office she felt she had just vacated, Vegeta's scent overwhelming her as she leant back. She heard the door click close as Goku left, Bulma's eyes and thoughts all went heavenward as she prayed to every deity she could think of, willing a safe return for both her husband and her brother. Or Kami help her—she would have her own vendetta against the Russian crown that she would have no problem following through on.

No one messed with her family and lived to tell the tale.

A/N: Not going to lie—when I first wrote this, I had Bulma so much more anguished and crying. But on second reading, I realized Bulma was wayyyy more likely to be pissed at Vegeta than sad. So hopefully this is believable…. Thanks for reading guys, and feel free, at all times, to poke and prod me to update. Getting those reminders from let me know you guys want to know how this ends as much as I want to write it. Love to all!


	40. Loyalty

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…Chaotzu would have been explained. What the hell was he? She? Fuck if I know what Chaotzu self identifies as.

Warnings: Cussing. Some minimal violence.

A/N: Happy new years guys! Big thank you to all of my readers/reviewers old and new. I love you and am always grateful that you guys have stuck around with me for this long. Big thank you to everyone who always leaves me encouragement to write—honestly you guys are the reason this monster of a story is still going!

Kattastropi, you are a gem. Never forget it!

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Loyalties

Billy had never been allowed inside of an establishment like the one he was currently sitting in—truth be told he was never really allowed _inside_ of anywhere but the orphanage he had been raised in. He knew, somewhere in the back of his mind that this bar was not that glorious, or particularly clean, but to him—it could have been the gentleman's club White's he had always heard the men of the dock dreaming of entering. But to Billy—the fact that he was eating at a table where he did not have to fight for scraps with the other street boys, ignoring the stench of so many unwashed bodies shoved into one place—well that made him feel like a king. Billy had been born a street rat, found abandoned by a church (he had never been told what church, not that it mattered), given to the orphanage, and he had been told constantly by the adults around him that the highest he would ever reach would be…well, street urchin. The very subtle difference between street rat and street urchin, of course, being that of working at the docks.

But if someone had woken Billy up today and told him that today he would have enough pounds in his pockets to last him a lifetime, he would never have believed them. Not in a million years! But sure enough, all he did was answer some questions for Mr. Wicket—and here he was, experiencing for the first time in his very young (yet still rough)…eating his third offering of a meal that he did not have to share with anyone else. Not any of the other orphans, not the other street urchins, no one but himself.

To Billy, this was heaven.

The same could not be said for his table companion, Mr. Wicket, who was clutching the table, watching every little bite of food Billy was eating as if willing it to disappear faster. The same Mr. Wicket who had delivered him to that Duke fellow who had given him all of the money he was currently treasuring. The same Mr. Wicket who had tried to bodily carry Billy out of the pub they were in—and the same Mr. Wicket who had dropped him the second Billy said he would run after that regal who had given Billy his small fortune. Billy was quickly discovering that that regal was a powerful tool he could (and would) use against Mr. Wicket, especially if he thought that Mr. Wicket was not going to provide the life and house the regal had made him promise he would have.

Before he got ahead of himself, though, Billy decided to take pleasure in the hard fought battle to eat inside of the establishment Mr. Wicket clearly never wanted to set foot inside of again, and eat his third plate of food as slowly as he had eaten his other two, enjoying and savoring every bite of food that passed his lips. It had been a long number of days since he had eaten an actual hot meal, and even longer that the meal was one he earned, and had not stolen. Nothing, especially not Mr. Wicket's palpable fear, was going to ruin that for him.

"Oy Wicket! You okay? You need anything else?"

Mr. Wicket, who was anything but okay, was also anything but talkative at the moment, so Billy turned around, a wide smile on his face, " 'E's allrigh' guv'nor. 'E did ask for some desser' 'e did." The bartender eyed Billy speculatively (as he had been doing since Billy had first walked in)—but then Billy had pulled out a couple of papers from his pocket, being careful to not throw the cash all over the place. The bartender's expression had not changed at the sight of the money, but he had nodded his acquiescence before he had headed to the back to grab Billy some dessert. Real proper dessert, Billy hoped. Not those horribly hard biscuits the orphans were given every Christmas that had once cracked his mate Reggie's teeth.

Billy turned back to his table companion, a smile on his face—though it was slightly tempered as he saw that in the second he had turned around to order more food, Wicket's eyes had grown larger, his fists going whiter from where they were clutching the table. Mr. Wicket sure was nervous about something, wasn't he?

Whatever concern Billy had was gone the second the bartender placed pudding in front of him. Real proper pudding—which was the most delicious thing that Billy had ever had the pleasure of tasting. Each bite of the delectably sweet and fruity concoction went down smoother than the rest, each bite a moment of pure bliss on his tongue. Billy could have kept eating it forever—but his stomach was not going to let him. Maybe he should have saved more room for dessert, because after he ran the spoon around the rim of the glass, licking the last remnants off of it, Billy felt the beginnings of a bellyache. But not one that he usually felt—this was not the gnawing pit of hunger he was used too, but rather a stomach protesting at being shoved full of so much food. Billy smiled at the simple pleasure, glad to know—at least once in his life—what a fully belly felt like.

With that happy thought, Billy finally looked up at the man whose knuckles had gone so white from holding the table the bone might as well have been peeking through, and kindly informed him, " Aye'm full."

Mr. Wicket had not only let go of the table (finally), breathing a sigh of relief, but Billy saw him cross himself as he stood, finally ready to turn and leave. But as he had stood, Billy at his heels, ready for a warm bed, or just a warm couch, or just a warm place to lie down…the front door to the pub had dinged open.

The man who entered, well the first thing Billy noticed about him was that he was tall—well that and his pointy hair that spiked everywhere. The second thing he noticed (besides that ridiculous hair), was the custom cut of his clothes, identifying this man as rich. It took Billy less than half a glance to recognize this man as a gentleman, and it took him twice as long to convince himself not to lift this man's coin purse. Billy reminded himself that he did not have to anymore. Especially not from big scary men who could squash him under his boots. Though as he looked at this man's face, he noticed that it looked more as if this man had a constant smile on his face than anything else.

Billy was pulled from his musings, though, as Wicket, who was also staring at the man, muttered to himself, "You look familiar…."

The tall gentleman, who had been scanning the bar, looked over as he heard Mr. Wicket speak, striding over to them as he nodded his head. "Good afternoon gentlemen."

Billy's mouth dropped open as he heard the man's unusual accent, "You're a yank!"

The tall man had smiled down at them, both of them ignoring Wicket as he stared at the man as if he held all of the answers to life's questions, "Through and through, son." He had reached out to ruffle Billy's head at that, and Billy's admiration for this man rose, as he had not even flinched at how dirty Billy was, nor had he wiped his hand off after touching Billy. In fact the man had gotten down on his haunches, making eye contact with Billy as he asked in a no-nonsense tone, "Maybe you can help me? I'm looking for a short, dark man—with hair spikier than mine."

Billy smiled instantly, nodding. Of course he would remember the man who had given him all the money in his pockets. "Yup! 'E was short, but better dressed than you—some sort of regal type. Wha' was 'e? A Duke of some sor', I reckon."

The tall man's smile grew, "That's the man! The Duke of Vegetasei." At that, both of them turned up as Wicket let out a gasp, and crossed himself again, but both turned back, ignoring him when no further sounds (or explanations for the earlier sounds) were forthcoming. The tall man only stayed at eye level with Billy as he explained, "It's really important to me that I find him, I've been sent here by someone who loves him very much. Could you possibly tell me where he is?"

Before Billy could answer, Wicket let out a strangled sound that drew both of their eyes. It took Billy a second to realize that Wicket had been trying to speak, but that all that had come out was some squeaks and grunts. The tall man cocked his head, and Wicket made eye contact with him; finally, as he cleared his throat and tried again. "Why would you want to possibly know that?"

The tall man stayed hunched down, but his tone changed instantaneously as he spoke to Wicket, "I'm his cousin."

With that, the quite hearty and hale Bob Wicket gave another garbled reply of squeaks and gasps, before promptly falling to the ground in a dead faint.

Billy blinked at the man who was supposed to be taking care of him, before shrugging, ignoring him as he turned back to the tall man. "I can tell you exactly where he is." Billy waited a second before holding his hand out to the tall man, motioning with his head, winking as he said, "For a price that is."

Hey, he might not be a street urchin much longer, but that did not make him stupid enough to turn away begging money off of some regals.

Even nice ones.

* * *

><p>Goku found himself in sight of the apartment building he had been sent to by the boy, praying with a deep sigh that he had found the right blue apartment building by the docks on Canal street that had a butcher shop underneath it. To be fair, there were not a lot of blue buildings in this part of town, but Goku was not known for his navigation skills. He might have gone to East Canal street instead of West Canal street, he might have mixed up what color the building he was looking for was—hell he might have accidentally crossed the Thames and not even have realized it.<p>

It would not be the first time he was supposed to be looking on one side of a river, and ended up on another.

He had been to New Jersey more times than he would like to admit because of—Goku shook himself. _Focus Goku!_ Time was of the essence here; Bulma had made that very clear. Hell, Goku knew it himself. There were lives at stake here, not just those of his family, but of the king, and possibly all of England if even a hint of what Bulma had told him about this Frieza character was true. And here he was wasting time, reminiscing about the times he had been lost in America?! Sheesh, his sister had not been lying when she had told him he needed to work on his concentration skills outside of the ring.

Goku approached the building, smiling as he saw that there was in fact a butcher's shop on the bottom floor. That was promising, very promising. Goku's strides lengthened, his past quickening as he got closer to the building, feeling glad that he was out and about doing something, rather than acting as a bodyguard to Bulma. Though he felt guilty for leaving his sister, and disobeying Vegeta's direct orders to watch Bulma—but Goku was a man of action, and he was glad that Bulma had sent him out here to find Vegeta. He was not meant to be a bodyguard or a prison warden (as Bulma had called it)—he was glad he could be out in the field helping out, even if it just meant finding Vegeta, informing him of the note Bulma had given him to show him, and then promptly being beaten to death by his cousin for disobeying him.

In his defense though, Goku had made sure Bulma was safe before he had left. Goku was not as stupid as people believed—and he loved his sister more than almost anyone else on this planet. He would not have left Bulma if he had not felt her well protected with the posted guards outside of the Ducal office, hidden in the secret office. Plus, he had gifted his sister with a pistol he had found in Vegeta's larger office before he had left, knowing she could shoot. Though, being Bulma, she had revealed to him two she had hidden under her skirts, a smirk on her face as she shook her head at his underestimation of her.

He should have known. Bulma could protect herself, pregnant or no—but that did not mean he was not still worried about his big sister. He would always be worried about her—that was his job as her younger brother. Especially a younger brother who had an older sister who could be as reckless as his was.

In all actuality, Goku was more worried about failing Bulma than Vegeta finding out that Goku had left Bulma. Vegeta might be his blood cousin, but Bulma was his true family, and it would literally kill him to know he had failed her in not finding her husband. Especially after how heartbroken Bulma had looked when she had told Goku that Vegeta had gone to die. No matter how angry she had looked on the outside, Goku knew that anger was a product of her fear. He knew his sister well enough to know that she would not show weakness on the outside—but that did not mean she did not need his help. So it was time to see if his faulty directional sense had failed him or not and see if this was the building Vegeta had supposedly rushed off to.

Goku ignored the shop entrance right in front of him, and went for the second door to the right of the storefront, the one that led to a set of stairs, finding himself on a landing. Though dimly lit, he frowned as he saw four doors around him, wondering which room Vegeta was supposedly in—and why the hell he was in one of them. What exactly was he doing here? Looking for somebody that kid at the bar, Billy, had informed him—though who the hell Vegeta could be looking for was beyond Goku.

Well, only one way to find out.

Goku approached the first two doors, knocking on them and getting nothing. He had remained absolute still and quiet by the time, trying to see if he could hear anyone moving inside of either of them, but hearing nothing, he moved on to the third. As he approached the third closed door, his senses picked up on the unmistakable odor of alcohol, sweat, and sick. It was a smell he recognized from fighting in the streets of Manhattan (even the best pugilism club's could not outlaw drink, or the drunks attracted to the bloodthirsty sport of pugilism). It was also a smell he detested, his nose wrinkling as he wondered if anyone was inside the room or not. He knew that nothing good ever came of men smelling like alcohol and sick.

Goku's brow furrowed, knowing whoever was in this room was unwell, his general need to help everyone making him forget his mission momentarily, only concerned with helping the person inside. He needed to make sure that he could get them help—and then he would worry about finding Vegeta.

Goku knocked softly on the third door, "Hello?"

There was no answer from inside, and Goku frowned, wondering if he was already too late. If whoever had been sick in this room was either, well, best case scenario, taken to a doctor, or worst case scenario—dead—well then there was not much Goku could do. But if whomever it was in there was still in there and alive—then it was Goku's duty to help them. Goku knocked again, louder this time, "Hello? Is anyone in there?"

There was a long silence, and Goku's heart started to thump as he considered breaking the door down. "Is everyone okay? Do you need my help?"

When a low groan answered him through the door this time, Goku's debate about whether or not to enter the room was forgotten, and he jiggled the handle—needing to get inside. He would break the door down if he needed to. An unnecessary heroic he found, when he turned the handle and the door, surprisingly, popped open. Goku only blinked at it in confusion for a second before rushing into the room, freezing as his nose and eyes began to water when his olfactory senses hit wall of sick, sweat, and alcohol that assaulted them. Goku let out a cough, before he tried again, "Hello?"

As his eyes adjusted, he stepped further into the room, his feet kicking an empty bottle, which rolled from him as he stared down at it. It did not roll far before it hit another empty one, and Goku's heart dropped as he saw the large number of empty bottles strewn about the floor. Goku's mouth set in determination as he looked back up, scanning the room as his eyes further adjusted, looking for movement, a person, anything that would tell him who made the moan. There was two beds, both messy, but empty, and Goku wondered if he had imagined the groan, trying a third time, "Hello?"

This time, the groan came from the direction of the floorboards by the furthest bed, and Goku moved there in three long strides, uncaring of the empty bottles he kicked and crushed with his feet. His heart thundered as he rushed over to what he had initially thought were some discarded rags or sheets, before he realized he was standing above a person who was crumpled to the floor in a heap, their arms and legs in positions no human body should be able to reach. Goku's mouth went dry and he tried to piece what went on here—had someone come in here and robbed this man?

Goku gently leant over the prostrate form, his voice hushed, "What happened here? Are you okay?"

Another low groan wet this time as it turned into a coughing fit that ended with the man's lips covered in blood. The blood drew all of Goku's concern, and his instincts took over as he leant down, picking the figure up, knowing he needed to get help—and he needed to get it fast. As Goku picked him up, he realized the man was insubstantial, weighing as much as Bulma or Chi-Chi. That was never a good sign, especially as the frame on the man was long—he was a tall man, and he should not weigh as much as women who were at least a foot shorter than him.

As he picked the man up, his only goal to get him to a doctor, another loud groan came from the man, the smell of booze mixed with blood wafting from his open mouth so pungently, Goku had to breathe through his mouth not to smell it. There was another wracking cough, more blood, and Goku turned the man in his arms so he was coughing onto Goku's jacket. The last thing he needed was the man to choke on his own blood or bile, or whatever it was. What the man needed was medical attention, and Goku was going to make sure that he got some before it was too late. Vegeta would have to wait—this man needed help.

Goku rushed from the dark room, knowing that the butcher downstairs would be able to lead him to a doctor or a hospital—and using the Vegetasei name, Goku knew he would be able to get service no matter where he went. He might not always like the way his life had turned out, but if it meant his name could help him save someone just by using his name, than far be it from Goku to ignore that benefit. Goku took the stairs three at a time, and only as he burst into the light, did he allow himself to look at the man in his arms.

His mouth dropped open as he instantly recognized the man, stopping right outside the doorstep as he took in the deathly looking figure. Though he was now more a shell of the man that Goku knew rather than the man himself, he was still instantly recognizable. He might not have seen him since he defeated him at the World's Martial Arts competition a few years ago, but he knew him at once.

"Piccolo?"

Piccolo, the Indian he had defeated for the title, only groaned again, and Goku's heart sank as he took in the wan man before him, remembering the healthy and hearty warrior he had been the last time Goku had seen him. "Oh Piccolo…what happened to you?"

* * *

><p>Piccolo was still being held in the oaf's arms, Vegeta's fists raining into his stomach, but he was a million miles away. He refused to speak, and used his years of training to separate his mind from his body. He thought of his mother and brother's, now passed, and he thought of the man his father used to be. The great warrior with a twinkle in his eyes who had left the village once, saying he would win the World's Martial Arts competition and buy his family the medicine they so desperately needed. Piccolo had believed no one could stop him, especially from saving his family—but it was not too be. A young upstart warrior, the reigning champion it seemed, was to defeat him, and to start both Piccolo and his father on the path they were now on.<p>

He also thought of Kami, with a great sadness and shame, remembering all of his teachings, even as his body was pushed to the limit with the physical blows he was being dealt. Kami who had always been so patient with him—and Piccolo had thrown that in his face by leaving and choosing his father over the tribe. Still, Piccolo did not focus on that, but rather all of the training the pair had shared, especially that of being able to separate body and mind. He knew that he was going to be in physical pain if he was ever let go, but in that moment, he let himself float further into his Zen like trance, his eyes slightly over Vegeta's shoulders as he focused on the street outside the alley.

He did not watch the street traffic, hoping for someone to come and save him, or hell, even to notice him, but to give his mind something to focus on. Keeping his eyes away from what was happening was key to tricking his body into absorbing the pain without letting it over power him. Piccolo felt the punches as a human felt a fly landing on them, though even he had to admit his Zen state was only getting him so far. Vegeta was not pulling his punches, but there was nothing Piccolo could do in this moment to stop him. Piccolo had known he was not going to answer any of the Duke's questions on principal, but when he heard the questions; Piccolo realized that Vegeta was currently beating him for something that had nothing to do with Piccolo.

In fact, it seemed as if the only thing Vegeta actually knew about Piccolo was that his codename his father used for him in England was green—but the rest was a bunch of gibberish about him being French and a spy for Russia. Really, Piccolo was beyond lost. But he was not going to correct Vegeta, he would rather him be under the misconception that Piccolo was some sort of spy, then who he really was, and why he was actually here.

Piccolo's mind was a blank slate, as he repeated his Zen mantra he had been taught since he had begun training under Kami, wondering if he would black out anytime soon. The thought of fighting back did not even cross his mind. There was nothing he could do, not when the Duke's strength matched his own, and he was outnumbered two to one—Piccolo briefly wondered if he was going to die today. If so, he found himself growing sad that this was where and how he was going to die—beaten to death in the middle of a disgusting and dirty city, for something he know he did not do. He wondered how his father would carry on without him. Would he continue the mission? Or would he drink himself to an early death?

Something cosmic zipped through Piccolo as he was lost in his thoughts, especially as he thought about what would happen to his father, drawing his attention not to the physical pain that was happening to him, but to some sort of ruckus on the street. Piccolo tried to fight it, but the commotion drew his attention, bringing him back to his current self, forcing himself into the now and present, right as one of Vegeta's fists landed on his solar plexus.

Piccolo coughed, or his body did in gut reaction as the breath left his body, as his eyes focused on the familiar, and sickly, figure of his father's body—in Goku's arms.

Piccolo did not hear the loud scream he let out, or feel himself wrench out of the giant's grasp, but before he knew it he was running down the alley, towards his father. It was as if every moment of peace he had found while zoning out had left him, and left him with a white-hot anger that streaked through him as he saw his father in the enemy's arm. It only grew as Goku dropped Piccolo Sr. from his arms, throwing him towards the ground, the prostrate figure of his father hitting it violently, the frail body shaking and convulsing as Piccolo approached the pair. Goku knelt down immediately, and Piccolo burst forward with a force he did not know he could possess.

"You!"

Goku's head popped up from staring at the man at his feet, confusion and not an iota of recognition (though why would, he had never met Piccolo before) as he stared at the approaching man. Piccolo did not care though, ignoring the physical pain of his body as he swung his fist as hard as he possibly could, connecting with Goku's jaw, catching the large oaf by surprise and knocking him to the ground in one swift motion. Goku only blinked from where he landed on the ground, as he rubbed his jaw, surprise on his face as he looked at Piccolo.

Piccolo dropped to the ground, ignoring the felled buffoon, kneeling by his father's side to make sure he was okay. "Father, what has he done with you?" Piccolo took in the shaking, saw the still wet bile on his lips, and his heart sunk even further when he realized that his father was having another of his seizures. This was not the first seizure he had seen his father have, but it did not register to Piccolo as a natural occurrence, instead causing him to stare at Goku as he rose up, snarling, "What did you do to him?"

Before Goku could respond, Piccolo leapt at the man, knocking him back into the street as his hands found their way around his neck. Goku, whose confusion turned to concentration, grabbed Piccolo's hands as they reached for his neck, pulling them apart as he used his knees to kick into Piccolo's stomach—hard. Piccolo was knocked over Goku's head and on his back, landing with another loud _oomph_. He took but a second to catch his breath before he jumped back into standing position, noticing that Goku was doing the same. Both crouched into fighting stance, but before Goku could move, Piccolo's anger coursed through him again and he screamed as he jumped for the man's throat with the intention to kill—but he never reached his destination. Instead two very strong arms grabbed him from behind, and pulled Piccolo away from his target and off of the street.

Piccolo snarled, twisting in Nappa's arms as he yelled like a wild animal, catching the attention of every person on the street as he screamed, "What did you do to HIM?!"

Goku dropped from the fighting stance, putting his hands up now that he knew he was safe—at least for the moment. "Nothing! I swear to Kami." Goku looked down at Piccolo Sr. as he let out another moan, dropping to his knees to grab the man back up, holding him as gently as if he was a baby, before turning back to Piccolo, "I found him passed out in his room like this."

Piccolo yelled again, trying to break free especially as his father was still shaking, though finding the giant holding him completely unmoving, even as Piccolo threw his weight against his arms. "PUT HIM DOWN!"

Goku shocked both Piccolo and Nappa, by finally yelling back, anger evident in his voice, "NO! HE NEEDS HELP! I NEED TO GET HIM HELP!"

His words knocked something in Piccolo, who felt the anger in him begin to be replaced by bewilderment. What had he just said? Why would he ever want to help Piccolo's father—Goku hated the man. Goku, the same Goku who had once laughed at him when he had asked for help—the same Goku that had openly mocked his father! He was not the type to get help for those he deemed beneath him! His own father had told Piccolo so!

Piccolo finally stopped struggling in Nappa's arms, looking at the man he had been hunting for what felt like years (had it only been months?) as he let out a confused, "What?"

Goku frowned, looking down at the man in his arms, his earnest tone confusing Piccolo further. "I knew this man once, long ago. He was a strong fighter, a good man. I can't just leave him on the street—I need to take him to a doctor. I owe him that much."

Piccolo's image of this man, the one Piccolo Sr. had always presented, was completely at odds with the concerned younger man in front of him, who was watching Piccolo Sr. with apprehension on his face. How could this be? His father—he would not lie to him about what kind of man this person was, would he? Piccolo's ears perked up as Goku continued, but softly and introspectively, as if to himself. "The last time I saw him—he was almost disqualified from the quarterfinals because he showed up drunk. Yet he still managed to win and almost beat me in the finals…." Goku's head reared back up, "I don't know who you are, but I was trying to pick this man back up when you attacked me. I don't know what you think I did to you, but we can settle it later. I must get this man help."

Piccolo frowned at him, processing this information, trying to rectify this man with the one his father had always presented to him as buffoonish and brutish—but he could not. Before he could speak though, Vegeta (who Piccolo did not realize was standing right next to him) spoke over him, his voice shocked, "Goku, you know this man?"

Goku nodded solemnly, not taking his eyes off of Piccolo Sr. as he held him closer to his body. Piccolo was glad to note that the seizure had finally finished, but he could not tear himself away from listening to the man he had been taught to hate. "I beat him for the title of World Champion in the last World's Martial Arts competition—but he said his wife and sons were sick, so I gave him my winnings to buy them medicine. He was such a good, strong fighter—I hate to see him like this. What could do this to a man?"

Vegeta's answer was droll, "If I had to guess, about three or four bottles of gin a day."

Piccolo did not answer Vegeta, unhearing of his snarky reply, instead focusing in on Goku. There was too much information to process, but he definitely knew that Goku could not be telling the truth about giving his father his winnings—his mother and brother's deaths were testament to that. "Liar!"

Piccolo did not move from the tight circle of Nappa's arms, though he struggled to be free, frowning as he parroted back to these men what his father had told him when he had returned from the World's Martial Arts championship weeks late, and empty handed. "He told me you refused to give him your winnings and taunted him by throwing the money away on food!"

Goku's mouth dropped open, shaking his head, "Why would I need that money? I hate money! I don't even need it—my family has enough money to buy me all the food I could ever want!"

Too many years of his father's stories, too many years of built up hatred burst through Piccolo in that moment as he only repeated, "LIAR!"

Goku turned to the man, his mouth open in disbelief, before he shook his head, "I do not have time for this—I must take him to a doctor, and now."

"DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!" Piccolo struggled in Nappa's arms, and Goku turned back to face him, anger evident in every fiber of his being as he looked to reply—but Vegeta did not let him.

Instead he stepped between the two men, staring at Piccolo as he told him, "If I may—this man is not who your father painted him out to be. It might seem hard to believe, but I bet Goku did not enter that tournament for any sort of money." Vegeta looked over his shoulder for confirmation, "Did you Goku?"

Goku shook his head, honesty lacing his voice as he admitted, "I just like to fight."

Piccolo struggled again, but said nothing, staring at the other man, before Goku finally put two and two together, "Wait—are you one of his sons?"

Piccolo only nodded, and there was a silence as the two men sized each other up.

It was Vegeta who spoke next, his voice catching both of their attention's as a note of frustration and understanding that had not been there before lanced through his question, "Piccolo—are you not someone called Green?"

Piccolo looked at him, giving a slight nod, before Vegeta continued motioning towards his father, "And is this a man you call father?"

"He is my father."

Vegeta sighed, rubbing the space between his eyes, as he let out a frustrated breath before continuing. "I meant…. you know what, forget it. Just answer this—did you or did you not sneak into Goku's introduction ball at my Mayfair estate, before meeting your father out in the gardens where you two had a short conversation where he referred to you as Green before leaving in opposite directions?"

Piccolo blinked, taken aback by how spot on Vegeta was, before he gave a slight nod, "That was me."

Vegeta let out a low and loud frustrated note, an oath, a curse, before he opened his eyes again, looking Piccolo dead in the eyes as fire sparked in the Duke's. "You are not Zhelonie, are you?"

Piccolo gave him a simple shake of his head, before Vegeta frowned, "Nappa, let the man go, he is not who we are looking for." Vegeta turned towards Goku, "Give the man back his father." The authoritative note in Vegeta's voice brooked absolutely no argument, and Piccolo was let go, and he rushed to Goku, snatching his father away, the pair of men still glaring at each other.

Vegeta was not yet done though as he looked at Piccolo, "Look, take the Vegetasei carriage, and go to the doctor who is on High street, and give him this ring," Vegeta nodded to Nappa to take his ring off, who handed it to Piccolo, "Tell him I sent you, and he will give you the best care in the world. When you are done there, go to my estate in Mayfair and ask for Jeffries. Show him the ring and he will give you two a place to stay. Or if you desire, he will give you two tickets on a ship to wherever the hell you desire to go." Vegeta's eyes flashed as he snarled, that old anger surfacing as he sarcastically added, "Is there anything else I can get you? Or do you have to now beat my cousin to death in my presence? Because if you could hold off for a few hours, I would greatly appreciate that."

Piccolo considered this briefly, wondering what was more important—his father's grudge, or his father's health, before he took the proffered ring in his palm, following Vegeta's lead to the all black carriage with the Vegetasei seal. As Piccolo laid his father in the back, he turned back to Vegetasei, and looked past him to Goku, "This does not mean I will not still come for Goku."

Vegeta shrugged his shoulders, before he turned his head, considering for a second before he spoke, his voice low enough for only Piccolo to hear, "You are always welcome to avenge any grudges you hold, but be sure you know the truth before you commit yourself to evening the score on something that might not have ever happened. I cannot speak to what happened between your father and Goku, but my cousin is not malicious or greedy—the man was willing to turn down an offered Viscouncy because it meant leaving his family behind." Vegeta stopped for a second, his eyes locked with Piccolo's as he said, "You are not your father, and you should not have to answer for his sins."

The weight behind the words was what caught Piccolo's attention, as he took stock of the other man, noticing something shift behind the Duke's dark eyes. Piccolo was not entirely sure what it was, but he did know that in that moment—in that exact moment, he felt a bond with the man he had never felt before, even when they were fighting. There was an understanding there, but then the Duke blinked, turning away, and it was gone. Piccolo only took a second to let the words sink, through his fog of anger, and need for revenge (as well a the physical pain that was starting to sink in), before he turned to the footman driving the carriage, and told him where to go.

* * *

><p>Vegeta did not even wait to hear the carriage roll away before he turned back to his cousin, making sure his face gave absolutely nothing away as he calmly said, "Follow me."<p>

Vegeta walked past Kakarrot with an arrogance and calmness he did not feel, not even turning back to make sure Goku was behind him as he moved. Vegeta moved down the same alleyway he had just been fruitlessly beating up Piccolo in, moving further down, making sure that he was a very appropriate distant away from the street before he stopped. He waited with his back to the main street for a moment, hearing the approaching footsteps of Kakarrot, and the heavier ones of Nappa, though those stopped further back, probably standing at the mouth of the alley as a sentry.

Vegeta waited until he heard Kakarrot's footsteps stop, before he finally turned around, making sure all of his frustration (at finding he followed the wrong lead, at knowing that his cousin had disobeyed his strict orders, at not knowing who Zhelonie was, at not still being in bed with his wife) was evident in his voice as he calmly said, "Kakarrot, you must know better than most that I am not one to lose my temper."

Kakarrot had that face on, that one that made him look most like his father, his eyes glinting like steel as he said nothing, instead only calmly nodding. Vegeta had to admit that he was impressed with his cousin for not speaking, for not trying to defend himself, the two of them in a silent stalemate as Vegeta looked him over.

Vegeta took a deep breath before he decided to continue, "Then you should know right now that I am fighting with all of my might to stop from beating you dead in this alleyway for disobeying a strict order of mine." Vegeta took a step closer to his taller cousin, his eyes glued to Kakarrot's as his voice dropped even lower, "Can you give me one possible reason you would have for leaving Bulma's side when I explicitly asked you to protect her? I did not think you were that careless with Bulma's life."

The slight against Kakarrot's regard for Bulma's life was ignored, as Kakarrot took no notice of his cousin's attempt to rile him up. "Vegeta, Bulma sent me to you with this note. She told me that it was the most important note you had ever received from your gardener, and that it had just missed you. She told me you would never forgive her if you did not receive this note."

Vegeta's kept his face blank as his mind whirled away, wondering what could possibly be in this note, but he did not ask for it right away as he only said, "You left Bulma unprotected?"

Kakarrot shook his head, still not cracking from the Bardock face. "Never. She is in the secret office, with two armed guards keeping watch on the outside door. I love my sister and would never leave her in a dangerous situation."

Vegeta did not feel the slightest bit appeased by this, but his concern for Bulma's safety waned the slightest bit. Enough for him to be concerned about the note, and to wonder why on Earth Bulma would send her brother out here to look for him, especially with what she knew was a confidential note. "Do you have the letter from my gardener?"

Kakarrot nodded, but hesitated in handing it over. Apparently he had something to say. "Vegeta, I am here as your wife's brother first, and as your cousin second. So you must understand where my loyalties lie, especially when I have a sister who asks for me to bring her husband back to her, alive."

Vegeta snarled at that, but Kakarrot finally handed him the letter, and Vegeta snatched it out of his hand, his eyes flashing over the note so quickly he had to read it slowly, again, to fully comprehend what he was seeing. Vegeta's mind began to whirl again, his anger at his cousin falling to the wayside as he processed what he was reading. The king was being held ransom? But how—how had Frieza's gotten close enough to the King to hold him hostage? And holding him hostage—that was not Frieza's style. But now was not the time for questions—it was the time for action. It was his chance, what he had been waiting for for years. His chance to have his revenge against Frieza.

Vegeta took a calming breath as that thought flitted across his mind, before looking back up to his cousin, making sure his face and his voice gave nothing away.

Vegeta turned back to Kakarrot, "Bulma read this?"

Kakarrot nodded.

Vegeta hesitated a moment before he asked, "Did she explain it?"

Kakarrot did not falter as he nodded again.

Vegeta cursed something fierce in his mind, but he only nodded, "Then there is nothing that I can do to make you leave my side today, is there?"

Kakarrot shook his head for the first time, "I am with you until I can bring you back to Bulma like she asked."

Vegeta smirked inwardly as he realized that was never going to happen, but knowing that his cousin was strong—and not a bad ally to have around when facing the head of the Russian army. Vegeta finally started to walk, past his cousin, striding with purpose, "Then hurry Kakarrot, we do not have much time, and I want to make sure there is enough time left in the day for me to kill you for disobeying me later."

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><p>AN: Oh snap—shit is going down in the next chapter! Thanks for reading guys, and I'll see you next time xx


	41. Let's Get Ready to Rumble

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. But if I did own DBZ…it would still be going.

Warnings: Cussing. Violence. No sexy times. Sorry.

A/N: Holy crap, I thought I was going to have trouble writing the action part, but once I sat down and actually wrote, man did it flow. I hope you guys enjoy the next few chapters! Not going to lie, I now know more about 1830s England then I ever thought I would. PS, too all of you out there who knows England topography and history, I have taken liberties here. Many liberties. And I am aware of that, especially in regards to parliament and what it looked like. Yeah for artistic license!

Thanks to all of you who leave loves and likes, you guys definitely keep me going. I am genuinely excited to see what you guys think of the upcoming chapters. Love you all, my gratitude for you is overflowing.

Kattastropi, you are that person who knows what word I am trying to say, even when I don't know what word I am trying to say. Everyone needs someone as awesome as you in their lives.

Chapter Forty: Let's Get Ready to Rumble

_Come quickly to House of Lords. The King is being held captive in the cabinet room. Frieza has secured a way in, with at least fifteen of his men. We need everyone to help defuse situation before people start to notice. Stealth is of utmost importance here. _

The words of the note were burned in Vegeta's brain as he rode the horses Nappa had somehow procured for the three men, taking what would have been a half hour walk and turning it into a ten minute ride. Vegeta was glad for the time saving, as he knew that once they arrived at the wooden footbridge, with Westminster, tall, proud and beckoning only a Thames length away—they would have to abandon the horses. Basil's note had urged covertness, and horses coming over a wooden bridge was not particularly descreet. Instead of taking the Westminster Bridge, the one that was closest to Westminster and that would deposit them to the North, Vegeta urged his horse south, following the curve of the river until they came upon a bridge that would deposit them south of the House of Lords. It took them a few extra minutes, but Vegeta hoped those minutes would prove worth it.

Nappa had understood, but Vegeta had seen Kakarrot's confused face, so he only gruffly told him, "Even if Frieza does not know about my current job with the government, I can guarantee he knows I will be coming after him today. He is expecting us to come from the Northwest, where my residence is—I want to come from the Southwest, to see if we can find a way in that will not get us noticed."

Kakarrot had only nodded, and the men resumed their brisk pace as they crossed the bridge. As much as time was of the essence here, Vegeta knew that the element of surprise was just as important. Frieza was sure to know that he would come, and Vegeta did not want to give that fiend the pleasure and ease of him walking past where all of his sentries were sure to be placed. As they walked, blending in with the midday market crowds who were crossing from one fresh market to other on either side of the bridge, Vegeta's mind continued to whirl, his heart hammering in his chest.

He could not believe—but today was the day. The day he had been planning for, for years! The day he could finally seek his revenge…and the day he was most likely to either lose his life if he failed. Or, on the other hand, sign his death warrant should he succeed. His stomach turned at that thought. He ignored it. Focusing, instead, on the way adrenaline slithered and coiled through his system, putting all of his senses on overdrive. Today. Today was the day he found out whether or not all of his training, the austerity he had imposed on himself in his social life, whether it was all worth it or not. His mind drew away from heavy thoughts, turning instead to the moment in front of him—trying to find answers to questions he knew only Frieza could answer.

The biggest question, though, for Vegeta, was not how he had gotten in, or why he was holed up in the House of Lords—but rather just exactly what Frieza's tactic was. He was a man of open warfare—he was not one to hold a king hostage, demanding they turn over power to him or else. No, he was much more likely to ride into London with all of his troops and hold every single Londoner at sword point, killing as many as he had to to gain power. Something about the whole thing smelled fishy to Vegeta, but he could not figure out just why. It really might be the lack of army that was throwing him off—Frieza never entered battle without a battalion of soldiers larger than any army he was sure to face. But it seemed there was none, or none important enough to mention in the note. But how did Frieza expect to take a kingdom without an army?

It was not sitting right with Vegeta, but still he pushed on.

Nappa's large footsteps no longer right at his heels alerted Vegeta to the fact that his cousin had stopped even further back on the bridge, turning to look at him. He was surprised to a see a frown marring his face as he walked back towards him, following his line of sight towards their destination, the large building looking serene and as if it were not the spot for the biggest showdown on British soil in…well forever. Kakarrot turned back to look at Vegeta as he approached, "You know this town inside and out right?"

Vegeta, growing impatient with the knowledge that every minute wasted, standing around, was one where Frieza gained an upper hand simply nodded, and Kakarrot continued, "We need to find a way into the palace where we aren't seen, right?"

Barely containing his rising ire, Vegeta snapped, "Of course."

"Are there canals that lead under those arches?" He pointed down from Westminster where there were arches about Fifteen feet off of the Thames. "We can use to go up into the building?"

Vegeta's mind blanked for a second, mad at himself for not having thought of the cellar below. The canals were low hanging arches the perfect cover for three men trying to enter Westminster unnoticed. Before he could chastise himself too much (now he was the one wasting time!) he only growled, "There are canals underneath, and a cellar we can use to slip into Westminster." He paused before catching his cousin's eye, begrudgingly forcing himself to admit, "Excellent idea Kakarrot."

Kakarrot did not idiotically beam at him, and Vegeta would forever be grateful for that. His cousin's face was instead set, much like Vegeta remembered has father's had been whenever he had spoken to the dowager, and Vegeta drew comfort in that. He did not need the Americanized Kakarrot today—he needed the one with Saiyan blood. He was not sure if his cousin was truly combat tested, in a real battle where death was the only way to move on—but he would be by the end of the day. Vegeta needed to know that his cousin could face it before he threw him into the fray—and seeing his Saiyan side coming out, well, it let him know that he would be.

Vegeta turned then, knowing that the men would be on his heels as he continued across the rest of the bridge. Instead of exiting the bridge and heading down Milbank, they instead followed the path from the mouth of the bridge down to the river. Vegeta considered flinging coin at the first boat they saw—but he was worried that Frieza would have sentries posted along the edge of Westminster to watch the river for ships coming in. There was a well worn path (if it could be called that, in actuality it was more of a lip that provided a one foot ledge that held people over the river) that followed alongside the river, twenty feet below the short wall that ran from the bridge to parliament. A man would have to be looking straight down to see anyone on it, which was why it was perfect for three men trying to sneak into Westminster in the middle of the day.

Nappa's large frame worried Vegeta, but he was appeased when he saw Nappa cling to the wall sideways, stopping his shoulders from hanging into people's sight. Though it slowed the man, it did provide them the cover they needed—plus Vegeta was not worried about Nappa falling behind. The man had proved himself time and time again in helping Vegeta with his spy work.

They arrived at the canals that led to the Westminster cellar within minutes, but Vegeta stopped short before they could enter one. Kakarrot hit him, and Nappa hit both of them—and Vegeta's sure footing was the only thing that stopped them all from falling into the view of the Russian longboat that was already waiting in the docks underneath Westminster. Vegeta motioned to the two men behind him, who took in the longboat sitting at the dock—full of about fifty men who were dressed in British soldier's uniforms.

That did not fool Vegeta though—he had fought enough Russian's to know what an army of them looked like. Plus the commands being yelled at them by the CO—they were not in English. Vegeta observed as the men, under the canal and out of view of the people on the other side of the Thames, were pulling on antiquated, yet effective in close battle, armor. Full on armor that would protect them from swords (though whether or not from bullets was another story entirely).

So that was Frieza's game. Pretend to be leading a small number of people—but really having an army at his beck and call to launch a surprise attack once everyone was inside the closed confines of the House of Lords. If Frieza attacked from the front and the back in the long hallways—well, it would be a bloodbath. Whatever British generals and soldiers who were there now—they were sure to be all higher up in His Majesty's Service—Frieza could eliminate the head of the British army, navy, hell every branch of their defense with one sneak attack. That would be sure to cause pandemonium in the royal services once Frieza actually revealed himself—and make it that much easier for Frieza to gain control.

Now that was more Frieza's style.

Vegeta pointed back, knowing that they had to warn Basil, as it would be impossible for the three men to take on the large number of Russian soldiers who were standing between them and the docks. It was Nappa though, that froze this time. Vegeta raised an eyebrow, ready to berate his second, before Nappa pointed above the ship—pointing out the old defense system that had been here as long as there had been docks underneath Westminster.

A rather large cauldron was stationed right above where the boat was docked—and Vegeta would bet his life that it was filled with pitch—the idea being, of course, that when an enemy ship docked you would light the rather large cauldron on fire before tumbling it over onto the unsuspecting boat below. It was rather medieval, but it was effective. Dangerous around all of the wooden buildings—but definitely effective. Especially against a boat full of men wearing heavy armor that was sure to sink them to the bottom of the shallow river. Shallow, yet deep enough to drown them before they could even take off the heavy armor. Vegeta looked a little further along the catwalk that led to the cauldron, and saw two unlit torches sitting there, as well as another cauldron that was placed closer to the front of the dock—if they used both, they were sure to incinerate the ship and the soldiers before they knew what hit them.

Vegeta pulled both of the men back, away from the eyes and the ears of the Russian soldiers, as he looked at Kakarrot, "You are a good climber, yes?" Kakarrot nodded, and Vegeta continued, "How is your stealth?"

Kakarrot smirked, in an almost cocky manner as he admitted, "Pretty damn good." Vegeta eyed him for only a second after the curse word—was that the first time he had ever heard Kakarrot curse? Vegeta just hoped it was a sign of his Saiyan side coming out further and further.

Vegeta looked at both of the men as he laid out his plan, "Kakarrot we need to kill as many of these as possible before Frieza gives them the signal—do you see that cauldron?" Kakarrot looked past Vegeta, his head back in the canal entrance for a moment, just long enough to look at it, "There is a second cauldron stationed further ahead, up by the front of the boat, do you see it?" Vegeta waited until Kakarrot peaked around the lip of the cave, nodding his answer as he pulled back, looking at Vegeta again. Vegeta frowned, "I need you to climb over to that one—the catwalk for that one is on the other side of this arch, so you need to climb over that first. Once inside you have to hug the wall, but the ladder does not look that far into the catwalks. Just make sure you grab a torch once you're up there. When I give the signal light it and use it to set fire to the pitch inside the cauldron, and pull the lever that will turn the cauldron. We need to do this at the same time, catching the men by surprise—can you do that?"

Kakarrot only smirked (was that a real smirk on his face? Vegeta's confidence in him rose right then and there), Nappa handing him some matches before he was off, climbing the rocky wall outside of the canal. Vegeta held his breath as he watched his cousin climb over and around—but the man was a literal monkey. He climbed around using only his arms, not even a toe of his coming in sight of the mouth of the canal. Vegeta waited until his cousin was ready, standing on the other side, giving him a thumbs up, before he looked back at Nappa.

Nappa gave Vegeta a grim smile, "Good luck, sir." Vegeta said nothing; only taking the proffered matches, knowing full well Nappa knew how he felt about luck.

Vegeta turned as he began to twist his way into the dock opening. It was a twenty-foot walk along a small lip before he would reach the ladder that would lead up to the catwalk. Vegeta's heart hammered loudly as he knew that all it would take would be for one man to look either his way, or Kakarrot's and the game would be up. Not for the first time did he thank his affinity for wearing all black, as it helped him blend into the dark entrance to the canal, his footsteps sure but light as he made his way to the ladder. For the first time in a long time, Vegeta also thanked Kami for his small stature—as he looked over his shoulder, he saw Kakarrot's feet hanging over the lip, one of his feet slipping—as well as Vegeta's heart. But his cousin's strength and agility made up for his large size, and he caught himself with his hands, scurrying along the wall the rest of the way to the ladder.

When Vegeta reached his own ladder, he climbed up with a speed that rivaled Kakarrot's, disappearing up into the darkness of the roof of the canal. He stayed low on the catwalk, crouching, but grabbing one of the unlit torches as he made his way over the creaky wooden beam. When he reached the spot where the cauldron was, he looked across, further into the tunnel, glad to see that it was connected through a small opening to the other cauldron—he and Kakarrot could see each other perfectly. Kakarrot was already waiting, his hand on the pulley that turn the cauldron over, the other hand holding a lit torch away from the highly flammable tar. Vegeta took in his cousin for a moment, noticing how tense his body looked in that moment—the smirk was gone too. Instead he looked grim, yet determined. Gook, Vegeta needed that determination.

Vegeta turned to his own unlit torch, lighting it with sure and steady hands as he took a deep breath, calming himself, his adrenaline fueled (and jittery) body with that breath. He allowed himself a second to look down from where he was, taking in the amount of soldiers on the long boat.

The men no longer looked like British soldiers, not with their heavy armor pulled on, and Vegeta felt a sadistic smile cross his face as he realized how this worked to his advantage. The men who did not catch fire by getting hit by the flaming tar, would sink to the bottom of the river the second the pitch burned their boat. They canal was wide enough that it would be a seven or eight foot jump from either side of the boat to solid land—this would work out perfectly. No one could jump that far in their armor, and no one would be able to swim the relatively short distance with such heavy armor on.

Vegeta looked back at Kakarrot, and the other man raised an eyebrow. Vegeta only waited a few more seconds, looking back down and giving time to the stragglers who were still pulling on their heavy armor, before he moved his arm, knowing Kakarrot would do the same, lighting the pitch as he pulled the lever.

The tar was already falling as it caught on fire—and drew all of the attention of the men who were directly underneath it. There was not enough time to scream before the boat caught fire in the front and rear of the boat, the men directly underneath the two cauldrons covered in burning tar and flames, as the men around them either caught fire, or tried to jump from the fast burning wood boat.

Those who jumped did not meet a much better fate than those men who had caught fire—they disappeared underneath the water as quickly as they touched it, the movement of the surface the only indication that they had even jumped in. No one resurfaced from where Vegeta stood. The other men stayed on the burning boat, scrambling for a way to safety, finding none as the plank they had used to reach the dock at the front of the cavern burned as quickly as the rest of the wooden longboat. The docks themselves, perhaps damp with the humidity in the air, oddly, did not catch fire—and neither, Vegeta noted with a sigh of relief, did any of the walls of the cavern, or the roof that had them directly underneath Westminster.

The smell of burning hair and flesh hit Vegeta's nose, the screams of the men renting the air. Vegeta took a look back to the mouth of the cave to see if the flames or the screams were catching anyone's attention. Nappa was standing at the mouth of the cavern, and he only gave Vegeta a thumbs up, indicating that no one up there had noticed—yet.

Still, Vegeta knew that time was of the essence here. He did not want the people of London to know what was happening. The last thing they needed was a panic among the hundreds of thousands of people milling around about town—that would work in Frieza's favor, especially if he tried to escape.

But the screaming did not last long as the burning ship sunk, rather quickly, especially under the weight of the armored men, dragging those who did not burn down to the bottom of the river. Not a single soldier had made it—they were either burned or drowned. He looked across to Kakarrot, who looked rather queasy, but who had met his eye, a grim look on his face. Vegeta motioned him down, pointing to the now unguarded entrance to the cellar of Westminster. He turned back in and waved Nappa in, knowing the man would have to shimmy along the lip like him and Kakarrot had done to get to the front of the where the dock's still stood.

The three men converged outside of the doors that would lead them to the cellar. Rather than rush in, Vegeta caught Kakarrot's shoulder and his attention, forcing himself to ask, "Was that your first time…killing someone?"

Kakarrot did not meet his eye, but Vegeta felt the tensing of his shoulder, saw the crease that ran between Kakarrot's eyes, and he had his answer. Still Kakarrot answered in a gruff tone, "Yes."

Vegeta tried to find words to soothe his cousin's conscience, but there really were none, other than the truth. "They would have massacred His Majesty's service, as I do not think our side was expecting an army to ambush them. You saved countless lives."

Kakarrot's frown deepened, the lines of either side of his mouth deepening, but he only looked forward, determination in his eyes.

Vegeta, well used to reading the emotions of a man who did not want to speak, wasted no more time, his voice gruff as he commanded, "Come on, we have to stop Frieza."

It was not until they moved that Vegeta realized that something was off—if the king was in residence at Westminster, which meant every entrance, EVERY entrance should have been guarded. Even ones as insignificant and rarely used as the cellar doors. But they had yet to see any British officers down here, doing their duty.

Before Vegeta could voice these concerns, Kakarrot was pulling open the double doors of the cellar—and Vegeta felt his heart stop as they saw four Russian soldiers who had not been on the boat, the dead bodies of the British officers behind them. Vegeta only had a millisecond to take this all in before he realized they had four muskets pointed at the three of them, Nappa the one who grabbed him from behind, screaming, "DIVE!"

Nappa pulled Vegeta from the line of a bullet that whipped past his hair, as Kakarrot jumped to the other side. As the men were using outdated muskets, they could only get off one shot. Vegeta and Nappa wasted no time, pulling their blades from inside of their boots, and coat (respectively), moving at the speed of light as they rushed in, slashing without looking. It only took ten seconds, but four Russian soldiers now lay heaped on top of the British soldiers they had killed. Nappa and Vegeta wasted no time in lifting the weapons from the dead bodies, arming themselves with their swords and knives, but discarding the muskets. They would be useless in close combat.

It was only when they were armed that they realized Kakarrot was not with them, ransacking the bodies—Vegeta turned, frowning as he saw Kakarrot standing at the entrance to the cellar, his eyes large as he took in the bodies. Vegeta sighed, walking over to him, trying to find the right way to phrase this, "Kakarrot, it is only going to get worse the closer we get to Frieza—you will not be able to escape this alive if you do not prepare yourself to fight someone to the death." Vegeta sighed, running a hand through his hair, "If you do not think you are prepared to do this—then it is better if you return to Bulma. I still want you there protecting her."

At the mention of his sister's name, Kakarrot's back straightened. A resolve set in his eyes—as he looked at Vegeta, his voice steely as he said, "I made a promise to Bulma, and I am not turning my back on you or her. You need me here. We will not always be as lucky as we have been with the boat, and you need men you can trust behind you. I am one of them. I told Bulma I would bring you home alive, and I intend to do just that."

There was truth in Kakarrot's words, so Vegeta only nodded, handing him a sword and the belt it had been in. Kakarrot took the sword from the belt, examining it, before turning it over in his hands a few times, easily slashing it, the sword looking comfortable in his hands, before he returned it to the belt, tying that around his waist. Vegeta smirked as he watched the display—for once, he was glad he could admit that his cousin was one well-trained individual. Even if he had never seen battle, he sure knew how to fight. That was definitely an advantage they would need, the closer they got to Frieza.

"Come on, we do not have much time before Frieza realizes his whole army is dead." Vegeta turned to walk through the cellars, moving past the main entrance and to the right, where, with the right push, a whole casket of barrels moved out of the way, revealing the entrance to the tunnels that ran under and throughout Westminster. Vegeta took the first right, stopping at the foot of a long set of stairs that would lead them up to just right of the cabinet room.

He took a breath, and then faced his two companions, "We still have the element of surprise, and I intend on using it to kill Frieza."

With that, he turned back around and began the jog up the steps that would lead him to the man he had vowed to kill all those years ago.

* * *

><p>Piccolo was grateful for the swiftness of the Vegetasei carriage driver, holding on to the side of the speeding carriage as they left the east side of town, crossing one of the only bridges open to carriages, entering the west side of London. They sped as fast as they could, heading for Mayfair and the doctor's office that Vegeta had commanded he go to.<p>

His concern for his father outweighed his need to comprehend what had just happened, what had just occurred with the man he had always been taught to hate. He did not let himself even think for a second about what he had seen, about what he had heard, to allow himself to process what he had been told about his father. But still, he thought about Goku—their first meeting had not gone as Piccolo had ever imagined. He was not the man his father described him to be, gleeful, and malicious—but Piccolo was not going to try and decipher that just yet.

In fact, he only focused on the changing streets, his heart thundering as he thought of how unwell his father looked, of how small and sick he looked in the actual light of day. He did not dare to peek into the carriage, afraid to see his father throwing up, or having another seizure. He only prayed for speed, his stomach turning itself in knots as he prepared himself for the worst. The only comfort was the ring weighing against his leg, the full weight of the Vegetasei privilege carried in the heavy brass ring. Where before he could only afford the opinion of a doctor, this would buy him whatever care his father needed.

The carriage drew up to a wealthy looking establishment on a street full of wealthy looking establishments, but Piccolo barely noticed as jumped from where he was, opening the door. As the door to the carriage opened, Piccolo was hit with the familiar, yet stronger than usual, stench of sick and decay. His father must have purged his body on the carriage ride over. Piccolo did not even notice as he reached in for his father, his small frame easy to grab, though Piccolo felt his stomach turn as he realized how insubstantial his father had grown.

His father surprised him by opening his eyes as he groaned, saying his name in a raspy voice that bespoke his need for water, "Piccolo…. Piccolo…."

Piccolo leaned in close, uncaring of the smell as he looked for some sort of wisdom from his father on what to do, "Yes father, I am here."

Piccolo Sr.'s eyes were glazed with fever, but the swung, unfocused until they caught on Piccolo's own; "It…it is…" he broke off in a grasp of wheezing, his whole body shaking with the force of the racking coughs. Piccolo's heart squeezed as he felt his father's body shake so, but Piccolo Sr. continued on when he stopped, talking with the lowest voice he had ever heard, "It is our time. Our time to earn our revenge."

Piccolo had not been expecting that, his eyes growing wide as he realized what his father was talking about. Piccolo had been waiting months for this moment—but now he could care less. All he cared about was getting his father well. Still, he told him, thinking him confused, "Father—Goku is not here anymore. We left him."

Another racking cough, another long wheeze as his father grabbed his lapels, holding himself up even as a fire burned in his—whether that was from the fever or the passion he had in his hatred of Goku was hard to tell. His words were raspy and low, but Piccolo hung on to every one of them. "Good. It…it is not him we will…murder."

"Father?" Had he just said _murder_? Piccolo had never killed another person in his life, not even in combat. He was a fighter yes, but their people were peaceful, even with the settlers who took more and more of their land. Sure he had expected Goku to get some sort of retribution—but to murder someone else in their quest for revenge against him?

Piccolo's fathers eyes grew wild again, as he sunk back into himself, "His family is unprotected. Go…(cough cough), go kill his family like he killed ours." Whatever strength Piccolo Sr. had had was gone with that last proclamation, his eyes rolling back into his head as he passed out.

Piccolo felt his father's hand grow lax, his body slackening—snapping Piccolo into action, and away from his shock as his father's _plan_ was laid out before him. He took his father into the doctor, fishing out the ring as he laid his father down on a waiting bed to show the nurse. Her eyes grew large as she recognized the seal, rushing for the doctor, before she hurried him from the room. It was there that Piccolo sat, finally allowing himself to think, think about what had just happened, and what his father expected of him.

He was sitting on a fancy chair, in a fancy office, in a foreign land—all because he thought he owed his father something. He thought he was doing what was right—he thought he was following his uncle's teaching in paying respect to his elder's…but this? To murder innocents because of the own tragedy that had befallen his family? Especially now, in light of what Piccolo had learned what he feared was the truth from his sworn enemy?

Goku had not been trying to harm his father, Piccolo let sink in, realizing that Goku was truly trying to help his father back there by their apartments. That did not fit in with the malicious and cruel man his father had always painted. He had told Piccolo that Goku had laughed in his face when he had asked for some of the money to help his family. He had said that Goku had told the man he had spent all of that money on a large meal, and that he did not deserve a single penny. He said he had mocked him for being poor, telling him if he had wanted to save his family than he should have won the tournament.

But this Goku—the one he had met, the one Vegeta (a man he begrudgingly had to admit he respected) had painted—was not that sort of person.

That raised even worse questions about what had actually gone on after the World's Marital Arts tournament those few years ago. Had Goku truly given his earnings to Piccolo's father to help save his family? And had the man he owed love and respect to really spent that money on booze rather than the medicine he knew his family so desperately needed? There was something so…it struck something in Piccolo. Some chord he wished to ignore, but he found he could not. His father's attitude since he had started to drink, even before his mother and brother's had grown sick, had sunk to new lows. Maybe his need for that drink, for a drink not readily available to him in Quebec, but was so readily available to him in New York had distracted him from his family.

Piccolo fought with everything inside of him, wishing it not to be true—but Piccolo knew it fit in with his father's long disappearance after the tournament. Piccolo had originally attributed it to shame at not winning, at having been denied the money that would buy his family medicine and him a way home—yet Piccolo Sr. had ridden to their village on a horse that was not his own. He had told Piccolo he had won it in an earlier fight of the tournament—but what if it was something he had bought using the money he was supposed to be buying his families medicine with? That thought made Piccolo physically ill, his hands fisting at his side as he considered just what sort of man his father always had been—selfish, greedy, and power hungry—and what sort of man he had become after the tournament—unbearable, intolerable, and a drunk.

Piccolo looked up in horror as he realized how blindly he had followed his father to London; abandoning those he loved to—murder innocent people? That was not who he was.

Piccolo was pulled from his thoughts, looking up as he heard footsteps rapidly approaching him as the doctor appeared, looking grim. His words were wind to Piccolo though, barely filtering in as he told him, "I'm sorry—your father, he did not make it. He had a—. Surgery—complications—we did everything."

Piccolo only nodded, asking for the body to be prepared for sea travel. The doctor had raised an eyebrow—but said nothing, only nodding his assent. Piccolo considered leaving his father here, in this Kami-forsaken place where he had drunk himself to death—but he was not his father, and he could not be that petty. He still owed the man who had given him to life a burial with the rest of his family. Whether or not their deaths were on his father's hands was no longer his concern—he would be judged by the gods on the other side, and whether or not he would be reincarnated would be up to them. Piccolo then went outside, to the waiting carriage, "Take me to Vegetasei's seat. I need to find a ship that can take me back to the new world, as well as my father's body."

Piccolo found himself on a ship, sailing home within the next six hours, his eyes firmly glued to the horizon, ignoring everything he had left behind in the old world, his father's body safely preserved underneath. It was time for him to go home. It was time to reach out to his uncle, praying with everything in him that he would be allowed his seat back at his side. He had learned his lesson, and from that point on, Piccolo would always put the needs of his tribe before his own—which was what would make him an excellent tribal leader one day, even if he did not yet know it.

* * *

><p>Vegeta stopped at the top the staircase, holding his hand up to the halt the two men charging up behind him. His other hand reached out for the secret lever on the wall in front of them that would turn it into a door with a flick of his wrist. Vegeta closed the fist on his hand that was still held up Nappa extinguished the torch, Vegeta giving himself a moment to adjust his eyes to the darkness in front of them before he opened the door. On the other side of this door was a cabinet, built specifically to cover the secret entrance into the quarters of the King's office, filled with coats that Vegeta pushed out of his way.<p>

This was built as a way to sneak the King in and out in times of dire need (or when the King grew bored of cabinet meetings, it was rumored among his staff), and directly connected to the room where Frieza was holding the King hostage. Vegeta stopped as he reached the inside of the cabinet door, his hand ready to push it open—but there was a shuffling on the other side of the cabinet, and Vegeta froze, the shuffling alerting him to the fact that they were not alone in the room.

It hit Vegeta like a ton of bricks then, with certain clarity. How stupid of him—this was probably how Frieza had snuck into Westminster without being seen. They must have come on the longboat that had entered the canals, dressed as British soldiers who would have been seen as common for entering through the canals. Now there were men on the other side of this door, probably meant to be messengers to the now-dead soldiers downstairs and the soon-to-be dead ones that were up here.

Fuck.

Vegeta had been hoping to sneak in—if there were a large number of soldiers, they would have to backtrack and find another way to sneak in. But first, he needed to listen, to try and figure out how many men were on the other side of the cabinet door. Vegeta pressed closer to the crack, his eyes swiveling as he took in the room—and he breathed a small sigh of relief. As far as he could see there were only two guards left in here, both of them standing sentry at either doorway. One right by the cabinet Vegeta was behind, and one at the door that led to the cabinet room directly across from the cabinet. Vegeta observed them, something not right as he noticed that they were both staring at the desk in the room. Vegeta could only see the edge of the desk, but he surmised that there was someone sitting in the chair there—the king perhaps? Frieza himself?

Vegeta motioned to Nappa, knowing this was where Nappa's brute strength would come in handy. He used two fingers to motion towards where the two guards stood, and then motioned towards the desk, indicating with hand gestures that someone might be there, but he did not know if they were friend or foe. Years of going on missions together made their silent communication flawless, and Nappa gave a nod of understanding. Vegeta moved back into the tunnel with Kakarrot, watching as Nappa reached into his coat, grabbing two of his throwing knives before he froze, looking through the crack in the cabinet to orient himself.

After a moment, Nappa used his shoulder to push the door of the cabinet open, catching the surprise of both guards as he burst forth with agility that did not match his size. Nappa wasted no time though, swinging in midair, using the momentum to slice the throat of the man directly to the right of the cabinet, his other arm straight out as he threw the knife right into the throat of the man across from them.

Neither men had time to react before they fell to the floor, blood spilling from their throats as they gasped their last breaths—Nappa having made sure to cut their vocal chords so they could not cry for help as they died. Nappa hardly noticed their death gurgles though, as he was already turned to face the person behind the desk, his knife ready to throw—before his arm dropped, his whole face falling as he took in what he saw.

Vegeta did not wait for the signal then, leaving the dark space of the armoire as he looked at what had captured Nappa's attention. Vegeta's eyes grew wide as he saw what had stopped Nappa, unable to stop a low curse from escaping his lips. There, sitting in the chair as if he were taking notes was the body of the king, propped up in his chair—the angle his head hung off of his neck the only indicator that he was not still alive.

Still, Vegeta was thorough if nothing else, so he wasted no time in approaching the body, putting his fingers to the neck, before cursing again as he pulled away as he felt how stiff and cold the body was. He did not have to check for a pulse, this man had been dead for hours. "We are too late. The King is dead."

Nappa frowned, Goku looking perplexed as he entered the room, still whispering as he spoke, "I thought Frieza was holding him hostage."

"We thought he was—His Majesty's Service must have slipped up though, and Frieza had him killed. We might be too late as it is."

The three men then turned to the door connecting them to the cabinet room, wondering what their next move should be. Vegeta knew he needed a plan, a new one, but he needed to know what he had missed. Unfortunately he did not even know where Basil or the other leaders of His Majesty's Service was, so he needed gather some intel first before he formulated his next plan.

Vegeta moved closer to the door of the cabinet room to listen, to hear what was going on in there, but the murmur of voices was too loud for him to make out any one voice. Though they were all speaking in Russian, and that certainly was not a good sign. But still—it did not sound like there was fighting. Perhaps his fellow countrymen had capitulated to Frieza's demands and there would be no fighting? Or, far more likely, Frieza had already killed off the British soldiers, and was planning his next attack.

Vegeta walked to the only other door in the room, the one that led to the hallway outside of this room, the cabinet room, and the floor of the House of Lords. Vegeta pressed his ear close there as well, relief flooding through him as he recognized British voices, glad to know they were not to late to save everyone's lives. A British officer, a general he recognized, spoke then, loud enough that he could clearly be heard through the wood of the door, obviously speaking to someone in the cabinet room. "We demand to see the King again, to know he has truly agreed with your conditions before we surrender."

A voice answered—a bone chilling voice Vegeta instantly recognized, the fat pink blob of a man who had never left Frieza's side, not even when he had been torturing Vegeta. That voice was enough to stop Vegeta cold, but then the Russian-accented reply caught Vegeta's attention wholly, as Dodoria said, "Bring the King forward. We need to show them that he is alive."

Vegeta, Nappa and Kakarrot all looked at each other then, ready to move back to the cabinet if someone entered this room to grab the body—but there was rustling in the hallway, no one even approaching this room. Vegeta grew even more confused, especially as he heard the British officer's voice again, sounding concerned this time, "Your Highness, are you all right?"

A voice, one that sounded harried, but familiar to the Duke, rang out, "For the love of Kami, please help me. Capitulate to Frieza, do not be a fool. It is too late for our Kingdom, and Frieza has promised to be kind."

Vegeta felt his confusion grow, and he looked behind to make sure that the dead King was in fact still there, before he heard the King's voice plead with the general to surrender. Something clicked, then, and Vegeta turned to his companions, whispering, "They must be using a imposter. They think that the King is actually still alive—they have no clue what Frieza has already done."

He took a steadying breath, a new plan already forming in his mind, closing his eyes for just a moment, before he opened them, fire burning there as he spoke, "That means we still can catch them by surprise. Come, we must warn the British the truth of the situation—and then we attack."

The other two men said nothing, but followed Vegeta back into the cabinet, Vegeta knowing that these two men would follow him to hell and back.

A/N: So that's actually the end of Piccolo's story, and I would love to know what you guys thought of his whole arc. I didn't realize how parallel it ran to the show until nancy103 pointed out—thank you nancy103! That was an awesome comparison you made, and I would never have realized it without you.

Okay guys, lots of action still coming up, can't wait to see what you think!


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